


confessions of a bandit lieutenant

by delurks



Series: beyond the borderlands [16]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Animal Death, Borderlandscast, Cannibalism, Diary/Journal, Dirty Jokes, Dreams and Nightmares, Electrocution, Gen, Guilt, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Implied Sexual Content, Mutilation, Near Death Experiences, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 13:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 65,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11014089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delurks/pseuds/delurks
Summary: this is the story of how arsenal picks up the pieces, before and after daltos vanishes.





	1. part one.

**Author's Note:**

> as usual, there’s guns and violence. there is also some rife nsfw humour because this fic deals with bandits and as you all know, bandits appreciate a good dirty joke. there’s also some suggestive scenes, though nothing too explicit happens. 
> 
> there’s also some discussion of ptsd, depression, and a scene going into why hookers don’t exist on pandora. the final few scenes do have implications of torture happening. not graphic, but it exists, so there you go. this is split into two parts due to length.

#####  **legally bandit**

Hello, this thing on? Testing, one, two, three, there we go. Looks like I don’t need to throw you at the wall again. Can I rename the title of this log? Oh  _ fuck _ yes, I can. I don’t know if anybody will ever discover these logs, but just in case, my name is Arsenal. Don’t laugh, that really is my name.

I’m  _ the _ lieutenant of the Blitzkrieg Blighters. Not  _ a _ lieutenant,  _ the _ lieutenant. Be nice if you can remember that so I don’t have to reach through the screen and slap you.

These logs are going to be my dirty little secret because you, my loyal ECHO device, are going to keep track of all my attempts to troll Daltos, and whatever goes on in my life that I feel is important and what’s worth remembering.

If any future historians examine this, know that what happens in these logs are based on one individual’s perspective, and that individual is not responsible for anything that happens if you decide to pull the exact same stunts.

Let me start by saying unless you’re prepared to curl up on the ground and cry for the next three hours, do  _ not _ tear your Dahl rank from your head. That shit scars, yo. No matter how cool it looks, even if your best friend does it, don’t do it, fuck the triple dare. 

You’ll look like a copycat, or worst, scream like a little git who needs to be knocked out so you can spare everyone’s eardrums. If you do succeed, you now got a badass scar and everyone respects you (until you open your mouth again).

We’ve been on Pandora for about a month now. By ‘we’, I mean the bandit gang. Bandits! Scourges of Pandora, raising hell wherever we go or decide to stay. Dahl Headland’s our roaming grounds. Not we got to pick, we just crashed. The frigate’s pretty good as a stronghold once we beat back people wanting to poke through our stuff.

The Dahl Headland doesn’t have much to offer, according to a couple of scouts. There’s some nice land that can be converted into a farmable patch. Daltos has already put a bunch of bandits on seeing what can be planted and what can’t. 

Dahl warships have an agricultural room for growing all kinds of neat shit. Tomorrow, we’re gonna uproot a couple of things and move them outside. I’m not holding out much hope. There’s a town nearby that we can see about trading with.

We only got guns and manpower to trade. I don't like having to trade guns, but decent guns apparently fetch a pretty good price around these parts. I’ll see what can be traded and what can’t.

Water’s not a problem. We got the collectors set up on the roof, plus the emergency solar generators going at full throttle. 

Daltos is also locking down the frigate, or the rooms that got damaged too badly. He says he’s sealed off the entire left and back wing of the frigate; said something about keeping assholes out. I don’t blame him, we’ve already had to shoot a couple of people for trying to sneak in. 

There’s a lot of valuable tech on a frigate. We don’t want to have to rip out anything. Daltos thinks that we can get basic life support back up and running. I think so too, it just needs a lot of backwiring and taking stuff from what’s not critical.

He’s doing alright so far, once I talked some sense into him. I’m on sentry duty tonight. I also think that we should check out who lives near us. It’s always a good idea to say hi to your neighbours, right?

Arsenal, out.

\--

#####  **beauty and the bandit**

This is the third party that Arsenal and Daltos have been invited to. Trusting Hawker, Hurricane and Bucker with the frigate’s care, the two turned up, lured by the promises of free food, cheap booze and easy company. That’s what Arsenal is here for. He’s not sure about Daltos’ motive for tagging along.

Daltos had to be convinced that the frigate isn’t going to implode if he leaves it for a few hours. Besides, he could do with some socialisation; Arsenal’s positive that self-imposed isolation when attempting to fix the bridge isn’t healthy in the long run.

Shivering, Arsenal pulls his jacket closer around him, bumping elbows with Daltos.

As Pandora leaves behind its summer trappings, the cold’s inbound, sweeping over the land to snap freeze unsuspecting travelers and bandits caught out in the winds. Arsenal’s Dahl jacket earned a couple of stray glances when he and Daltos had strode into the saloon.

Their eyes had traveled up to the lack of rank on both their foreheads. Accepting that he’s one of them and not some sort of snitch, they’d turned their gazes away. Arsenal’s hit up a couple of friendlier bandits, wanting the lowdown on the scene. 

This party’s a meet and greet, to celebrate the change of seasons. It’s a holdover from when the colonists initially arrived on Pandora and found out Pandora didn’t have obvious seasonal changes, so they decided to import a universal ceremony to signal that happening.

Bandits used it to scope out potential allies, share gossip, trade barbs, or to perform just about almost every activity that involved meeting someone, learning their name, then either talking or punching their lights out.

It’s an excellent party, by Arsenal’s standards. Nobody’s off being awkward in the corner, as every bandit strives to get to rub shoulders with at least one other bandit. People could say what they like, but bandits loved socialising, just not with outsiders.

It’s said that a sharp-eyed bandit could sniff out a spy in thirty seconds by the way a spy drank their booze. Bandits would deliberately let a spy in if it meant excitement down the line.

Arsenal and Daltos are drifting to the fringes of the party, minding their own business. A bandit strides over, out of the midst of the crowd around a arm-wrestling contest.

They’re wearing a cowboy hat, the cream colored band smudged with dust and fingerprints. A hand-painted gang insignia tacked to the band gleams in the poor light of the room. The bandit tilts the brim of their hat up, raising an eyebrow to look over Daltos and Arsenal. They must like what they see, because the other eyebrow rises too.

“Oh hey, I’ve heard of you!” Arsenal snaps his fingers, grinning. “Minty! You’re just south of us Blitzkrieg Blighters. Good to meet you in person at last.” Bandits also took the chance during these parties to figure out temporary borders.

“That I am.” Minty laughs. “It’s nice to be recognised for once so I don't have to break your nose.” She rests a hand on her belt, where a pistol’s holstered. “Daltos and Arsenal, right?”

Arsenal points to himself. “I’m Arsenal.” He throws an arm around Daltos’ shoulders, subtly reminding him to be nice. “This handsome grouch here is Daltos.”

“Hard not to miss a rep like yours,” Daltos politely says, removing himself from under Arsenal’s arm. 

Arsenal continues to grin, leaning forward. “What’re you doing in a joint like this?”

“Let’s see…” Minty’s mouth quirks into a sharp smirk to rival Daltos’ usual one. “Which one of you boys can show me a good time?”

Arsenal lets out an impressed whistle from between his teeth. “You are mighty forward. I like that. I like that a  _ lot _ in a person.”

Her eyes flick to Daltos, who immediately shoves Arsenal forward in the small of the back. “You sure you don’t want to join in?” She offers.

Arsenal turns so that his inviting grin’s directed at Daltos. “The more, the merrier.”

“Look, you’re hot, but I like my dick where it is,” Daltos flatly says to her.

“More for me, then,” Arsenal promptly says. “Let’s go.” He offers his arm to her.

“Suit yourself.” Minty shrugs, taking his arm. Minty and Arsenal shove through the crowd, away from him. “Your friend’s not the partying kind, is he?”

“He had a pretty bad breakup a couple months back,” Arsenal whispers to her once they’re positioned in a quiet corner.

“I know someone who might be able to help with that. Just in case, which way do you and your buddy swing?” 

“Oh, we’re both pretty open,” Arsenal easily says. “In case you couldn’t tell before you hauled me off.”

“Me too, but perfect.” Minty glances around, standing briefly on tiptoe before hollering, “Oi, Ravs! Get the fuck over here!” Her voice lobs into the crowd.

A grinning, kilt wearing bandit appears, holding a tankard filled to the brim with foam. “You called?” Arsenal approvingly raises both his eyebrows at the sight of him. “I’m Ravs, and it’s  _ very _ good to meet you.” He thrusts out a large, gloved hand, which Arsenal takes. His grip is firm, full of confidence and no surprise, warm.

“Arsenal!” Arsenal says, wanting to melt a little at the sight of those handsome eyes currently focused on him. “Nice to meet you too.” 

Smiling, Ravs leans in, using his grip on Arsenal’s hand to tug him closer. “So, how do you feel about–”

“Back off, he’s mine!” Grinning, Minty butts in, splitting up the handshake by slapping Ravs’ hand away. “And I ain’t in a sharing mood tonight either.” It flatters Arsenal that these two people are fighting over him. That doesn’t happen often.

“Really? A shame.” Ravs laughs, not even sounding disappointed. “What do you want, if I ain’t allowed to take Arsenal home with me tonight?”

“Good news, I got one for you!” Minty points in Daltos’ direction. “Blue jacket looks like he could use a good time!”

Ravs turns his head to see who she’s referring to. His grin widens, approvingly. “Oh,  _ yes _ . Hold this for me.” He hands Minty his tankard. The crowd splits to let him through, closing up in his wake.

Minty starts drinking from the tankard once Ravs is gone. Arsenal leans down. “I didn’t know you knew Ravs.”

“We’re practically next door neighbors, so I see a  _ lot _ of him, plus we both like booze.” Minty wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “You want a drink? Bar’s free.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Arsenal confesses. It earns a chuckle and a pat on the arm.

Across the room, Daltos is debating slipping away for a smoke when a bandit steps out of the crowd. It’s hard to miss them.

He doesn’t know anybody who still wears a kilt, or a shirt with the sleeves torn off so that it looks like a poor imitation of a vest. It‘s tacky and tasteless. They spot him, striding over. The friendly grin on their face could light up his frigate from front to back.

“You’re very pretty.” Ravs leans on the wall beside him, exuding casual confidence. Whatever swooning effect he’s going for is hampered by the slight difference in height; Daltos is taller, only just.

“People who tend to call me ‘pretty’ tend to end up in the dumpster,” Daltos responds, letting his expression veer from ‘slightly impressed and flattered’ to ‘are you fucking kidding me?’.

“Well, I hope to end up in your bed instead of the dumpster.” Ravs winks, pushing off the wall to purr into an ear. “Maybe I can show you what I’m made of before tonight ends?” He steps back, waiting.

The blatant fact that he looks and sounds so earnest stops Daltos from breaking the booze bottle in his hand and shoving it right into Ravs’ face.

“Yeah, alright.” Daltos pretends to knock back the rest of his alcohol, keeping it in his hand. He beckons to Ravs, leading the way out. Behind his back, Ravs flashes Minty and Arsenal a thumbs-up.

Arsenal and Minty watch as Daltos and Ravs move towards the back of the party. Nobody’s hanging around outside, staying close to the booze and games. Perfect, for whatever Ravs has in mind.

A few minutes later, Daltos walks back indoors, dusting his gloves off. He’s not holding the glass bottle he left the party with, making his way to Arsenal and Minty. There’s no time for Arsenal and Minty to say anything, aside from share a mildly concerned look of ‘that was a little quick’.

“Where’s Ravs?” Minty glances at the back door.

Daltos smirks. “I tossed him into the dumpster, where he belongs.” He laughs. “With the trash.”

Minty cracks up, slapping her thigh while Arsenal sighs. “Is he going to be mad?”

“Nah, he’s pretty hard to upset,” Minty lazily says, drinking the rest of Ravs’ tankard. “I don’t even think he’ll be fazed.”

Ravs reenters the party. Booze drips off his face and frame, following him across the floor. He stands besides Minty, somehow still grinning. This makes Daltos frown; he’d expected a furious punch to the face or a violent tackle.

“Boy! Aren’t you a hard one to talk to.” Ravs gets a wet hand in his hair, sweeping it back. A drop runs down his cheek and onto his broad chest. “I can’t believe you tipped your booze onto me. What a waste!” He leans over, eyes twinkling. “Seeing as you misplaced your drink, the next one’s on me.”

“No thanks.” Daltos turns to Arsenal. “I’m heading back to the frigate. Keep an eye on Hawker and Hurricane.” He shoves through the bandits.

Ravs watches him, a thoughtful look on his face. He takes the empty tankard Minty hands him.

Minty hooks a finger into Arsenal’s belt. “So, your place or mine?”

\--

– / / PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Ravs:  _ Hello _ there, I didn’t think I’d ever hear back from you after the party.

Daltos: This isn’t a fucking booty call.

Ravs: No?

Daltos: No.

Ravs: In that case, did Minty tell you what I had to ‘offer’ a pretty face like yours?

Daltos: Sans innuendo, yes.

Ravs: I’m open to the idea of an alliance with you.

Daltos: Great.

Ravs: On one condition.

Daltos: Fuck you, if it involves handing over my territory–

Ravs: Oh no, no, I don’t want your territory! I got enough land as it is. More’s just asking for trouble.

Daltos: Then what do you want?

Ravs: We can definitely work towards fucking me later, but let’s make it simple: I want one date with you.

Daltos: That’s it? A date? For supplies?

Ravs: One date, that’s all I’m asking. Dinner at my stronghold. Just food and conversation. Nothing has to happen.

Daltos: Is there a hidden catch?

Ravs: Even if it doesn’t work out, I’ll still go for the alliance. You have my word. Minty can vouch for me.

Daltos: ...Is tomorrow night fine? First hour of darkness.

Ravs: It’s perfect. After the date, I’ll send some shit over.

Daltos: I don’t have a suit.

Ravs: I don’t either. Just show up wearing clothes, unless you want to ‘surprise’ me.

Daltos: See you later.

Ravs: I hope to, in person, at least!

– / / END OF ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

Arsenal’s cleaning Daltos’ SMG ‘Emperor’ when two bandits step into the shooting gallery. He pretends not to pay any attention as two bandits sidle closer, bit by bit. Arsenal wipes down the SMG, inspecting it for any other blemishes he can remove with elbow grease. He pretends to aim it at the hole riddled target on the far side of the room, closing one eye to do so.

He turns it on Hawker and Hurricane instead. The two jump, their arms flying into the air to surrender. “Don’t shoot!” They chorus.

“I won’t if you tell me why you’re in here,” Arsenal says, lowering the SMG to grin. “Normally you two’d be raising hell elsewhere.”

Hawker and Hurricane glance at each other, gulping and swallowing at the same time. It used to be creepy, how the two are in sync. These days, if Arsenal can read one twin, he can pretty much read the other one too.

“We heard Ravs invited Daltos out on a date,” Hawker blurts, looking unusually worried. Hawker, worried about someone else aside from their twin and themself? That’s new.

“It’s true,” Arsenal cheerfully confirms. “He’s headed off…” He flicks his HUD down, closing it a second later. “In about fifteen minutes. I’m giving him a lift.”

“Can we tag along?” Hurricane asks. Hawker kicks them for stealing their line. Hurricane elbows them back.

“We don’t need three lieutenants to tag along on a simple date,” Arsenal says.

“What if you two run into trouble?” Hurricane points out.

Arsenal snorts. “I doubt it. We’ve got our borders pretty much cleared with our neighbors for now. I don’t think anybody’s going to attack us without getting their asses kicked.”

“That ain’t what I mean,” Hurricane insists. “What I really  _ meant _ was, what if Ravs decides to take him out?”

“If Minty says he’s cool, he’s cool.” Arsenal nearly laughs at the unintentional pun.

“You ain’t going with Daltos to the actual date, are you?” Hawker probes.

“I have to, since I’m driving him there, but he can take care of himself,” Arsenal says, rolling his eyes. He stands up. “Stop pissing yourselves, he’ll be back in about two hours.”

Hawker and Hurricane stay silent. Sensing that he’s not going to let them be an escort, the latter pushes the former out the door, whispering to each other. 

Arsenal doesn’t think any more of it, tucking away the SMG to give it back to Daltos. Daltos passes Hawker and Hurricane, sticking his head into the shooting gallery. “You ready?”

“Oh hey, you shaved.” Arsenal raises an eyebrow. “And changed your jacket.  _ And _ showered. You’re really pulling out the stops for Ravs. Bet it almost makes you wish you hadn’t burned that formal uniform of yours. You look ready to be  _ ravished _ .”

“Shut up,” Daltos says, scowling.

“Shame I can’t shave yet,” Arsenal points out. “Or else I’d have shaved, showered and changed my jacket too. Hey, if the date doesn’t work out, can I take my chances with him?”

“We’ll see,” Daltos mildly says. He and Arsenal leave the frigate in a technical. There’s a tarp in the back where there wasn’t any before. Ignoring it, Arsenal drives. 

He takes the road leading east, through the foothills. They almost pass Fyrestone, heading away towards the mountains and highlands.

To Daltos, it doesn’t make much sense how Ravs can run around in just a vest, boots and a kilt and not freeze to death whenever a cold snap hits. To Arsenal, he loves the sight of free eye candy.

Arsenal whistles, expertly making the right turns without Daltos having to direct him, evidently following the map in his HUD. Minty probably gave him the coordinates for Ravs’ stronghold. 

The stronghold’s a bunch of buildings and a stone wall wrapping around a cluster of hills. The technical strains as it fights the sloping ground. The two make it up to the top, in the end. Arsenal honks the technical’s horn.

“Time to see if Ravs wants that date,” Arsenal observes, preparing to reverse.

The main gate’s lowered. Arsenal and Daltos exhale in relief. The technical roars over the created bridge, over another and into the central area. Bandits begin to file out through the open gate, heading out into the highlands, using other bridges to reach the other buildings. It’s ingenious; if anything happens in one area, the rest can be closed off by wrecking the other bridges.

Curious, Arsenal watches the leaving bandits. He turns in the driver’s seat to face Daltos. “Looks like he’s kicking out his bandits. He must want some privacy, or he’s real serious about this.”

Daltos says nothing, climbing out of the technical. Arsenal lightly hits him on the shoulder as he passes. He can sense his friend’s nervousness, wanting to take a bit off to help him. “Hey, I’m out here if you need backup. Just shout if you need me.”

“Thanks.” Daltos turns to walk up the stairs and into the middle building where the lights are on. He presses the doorbell, his arms crossed over his chest.

Ravs yanks the door back. He’s wearing a leather jacket, hair brushed back. Arsenal notes that he also shaved and showered (bandits showered or didn’t shower; there’s no in between). His face lights up upon seeing Daltos. 

“You actually showed up! Come on in, I got a fire going, don’t stand in the cold.” He tries to hustle Daltos indoors. For a second, Arsenal thinks that Daltos is going to bail; Daltos appears to take a deep breath, stepping in.

The door closes. Arsenal drums his fingers on the steering wheel for a minute before slipping out of the technical. He walks around to the back, twirling a gun in his hand. He points it at the two lumps hidden underneath the tarp. The lumps stop wriggling, sensing his presence. Frowning, he roughly jabs one of the lumps in the rear.

“Ow!” The sound is hastily stifled with a loud ‘ssssh’.

“Alright, Hawker, Hurricane, climb out or I shoot your asses,” Arsenal cheerfully says. “You got until three. Three–”

“Shit, really?” Hawker and Hurricane throw the tarp off, gasping for air. “How’d you guess?”

“Saw you idiots climbing in before we left. Good thing Daltos didn’t catch you.” Arsenal holsters the pistol, glaring at them. “What gives?”

“We got worried that the date would be shit?” Hawker laughs, sheepishly.

“Yeah, don’t blame us for wanting to keep an eye on him. He’s like a little bro to us!” Hurricane sincerely adds.

“We’re both older than you by about five months. Don’t try to pull the ‘older and knows best’ card,” Arsenal says.

“Can’t blame us for trying,” Hawker says, shrugging. They look around, perking up before diving out of the technical, running towards the building. “So, has he gone in yet?”

“You’re not going anywhere near that building!” Arsenal moves to block Hawker from sneaking up the stairs.

“But! But!” Hawker flails, at the stairs and the building. Their expression turns sly. “Don’t you want to find out how’s it going?”

“He’ll tell me about it when he comes back,” Arsenal quickly says. That’s always been the case in the past, unless something’s changed.

“You’re never going to get the full, juicy story that way,” Hurricane observes, planting a boot on the stairs. 

“Just a peek! Then we’ll be back in the technical before you know it!” Hawker begs.

“Will you leave it alone if I let you stickybeak until you’re satisfied?”

Hawker and Hurricane’s heads bob in nods. Arsenal sighs. The three of them sneak up the stairs, crouching under the window nearest to where voices drift through. Arsenal risks peeking up over the windowsill.

Ravs is pouring Daltos a glass of alcohol. There’s a fireplace lighting up the room. A table sits on top of a patchy carpet. Corked barrels of booze are stacked up along the walls along wooden racks. Wreaths of collected, dark blue moss tangling with tasteful patterns decorate the bare walls. It’s a rather homely look.

Arsenal huddles closer to the stone walls, hoping to leech some of that wonderous warmth. Daltos is seated at a wooden table. He’s lost the nervousness, replacing it with the beginnings of curiosity.

“Relax, we’re all alone,” Ravs easily says, feeding a log to the fire. “You can check your radar, if you like.”

Arsenal gestures for Hawker and Hurricane to go completely still. The three of them freeze, prepared to leg it down the stairs until Daltos says, “No, I trust you. Besides, if we catch anybody, you’d probably break their necks.”

Ravs laughs, moving back to his side of the table. “That I will.” He takes a seat.

“You’re not going to hit on me?” Daltos frowns. “Whatever happened to ‘you’re very pretty’, back at the party? And what you said during the call?”

There’s another laugh from Ravs. “I don’t flirt on dates.”

“So it’s really an act.” Daltos sounds and looks smug. “I knew it.”

“I know when to drop it, compared to some people.” Ravs points to the untouched glass next to Daltos’ hand. “I’m not trying to poison you either.” He lifts up his own, sipping from it before putting it back down. A grin’s directed at Daltos. “See?”

Daltos picks up his own glass, risking a cautious sip. “Huh, it’s not that bad.”

“Brewed it myself. Folks don't like bandits, but they’ll gladly trade for halfway decent booze.” Ravs tilts his head. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“I’m Heran, if you’re wondering about the accent.” Daltos swirls the booze in the glass. “Used to be with Dahl military, then became a bandit. And you?”

“Not at all. Your accent’s not that obvious, compared to mine.” Ravs chuckles. “I’m all the way from Dionysus, more or less in the same boat. Not military, though. I’d probably kill myself if I enlisted.”

“Are you from one of those famous highland clans?”

“Yep,” Ravs confirms. “I didn’t leave that behind when I started my gang, but you could probably tell.”

“Yeah, I could.” Daltos looks around, causing Arsenal, Hawker and Hurricane to duck under the window for a few seconds. “What’s with the severed head above the fireplace?” Arsenal glances at it. There is indeed, a severed head pinned to the wall above the fireplace.

“Oh, that! That’s the last idiot who tried to challenge me. It makes a great conversational piece, doesn’t it?” Ravs preens, appearing pleased that Daltos spotted it.

Arsenal hasn’t heard Daltos laugh like that since the two of them crashed landed on Pandora. The sound pierces his gut like a sudden drop in gravity, deeply familiar and yet, unfamiliar.

\--

#####  **the bandit with all the gifts**

Arsenal blows his hair out of his eyes, rolling over onto his back. Minty climbs off him, settling against his side. It’s her bed, so he lets her pick what side she wants. Not that she cares, so long as she gets her fill of cuddles.

“You did a good job.” She paps his face with a hand.

“Hey, I think I did a  _ fantastic _ job!” He retorts.

“Okay.” She paps his face again, grinning. “I think you did a  _ terrible _ job.”

He sits up in the bed, pretending to look offended. A hand’s thrust up into the air. “Objection!”

“Objection overruled,” Minty says, pretending to sound serious. She raps her knuckle on his thigh, trying to mimic the sound of a gavel. “Actually, I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been in a fucking courtroom before.”

“I sentence you to cuddling me,” Arsenal smoothly says. “Until Daltos wants me back at the frigate, that is.” He hopes that Daltos doesn’t mind his growing absences. It’s not like Arsenal’s making these trips to Minty’s place without bringing something back to appease him and the others.

“Before I carry out my sentence, can I get you to fill this out?” Minty leans over the side of the bed, granting Arsenal a very nice view of her not-so-slender curves, partially hidden by her frizzled hair. She hands him a single bit of crisply cut, white piece of paper in a rather businesslike manner.

Arsenal pretends to pull out reading glasses, perching them on his nose. He squints at the paper, his eyes eventually widening. His lips start to tremble from trying to hold back his laughter until it’s too much and he’s cracking up.

“Is this a fucking survey? Holy shit, I  _ love _ it!”

“Be a dear and fill it out for me,” Minty says, grinning.

“Absolutely!” Wiping his face with his arm, Arsenal gets out of the bed to feel along the floor for his digistruct modules. She likes how he’s completely comfortable walking around in the buff.

Minty rests on an elbow, stretching herself out. She could do with a smoke, but doesn’t know how he feels about smoking in the bedroom.

Feeling her gaze on his back, Arsenal rises to face her. He puts the pen in his mouth between his teeth, striking a pose to flex. 

“U ‘ike?” She laughs. “Blargh, you like?” He says, once he’s taken away the pen, sitting cross-legged on her bed.

He spends a few minutes scrawling, tapping the pen on his mouth in thought whenever he pauses to think.

“Take your time.” Five minutes later, he hands her the completed survey. Minty raises an eyebrow at how proud of himself he seems for obliging her unusual request. “You said ‘hell fucking yes’ in capitals for ‘would you like to do this again?’.”

“How could I not?” Arsenal immediately says.

“You rated this ‘sexperience’...” He snorts. “An eleven out of ten.”

“If I could put a hundred, I would, but that still would have ended up being a ten, so why not an eleven?”

“And under ‘any other comments’, you put down… ‘I have never met someone as perfect as you, and holy shit, this survey is beautiful, so Minty, please give me your ECHO code?’ Arsenal, really?” She says that last part in a dry tone.

He raises an eyebrow when she looks back at him. “I had to try!”

Minty spawns her own survey, stealing the pen from under his hand. “Alright, lemme fill in my own survey and then you can read it out.”

“Fill it out on my back,” He offers.

“No, you just want to figure out what I’m writing from the movements.” Minty lightly kicks him in the leg as she rolls onto her stomach, scribbling away. The bed creaks as he leans to the side, trying to see what she’s writing. Easy to solve. Covering her writing with a hand earns a disappointed face.

He flops onto his back, their legs propped up against each other. A paper’s thrust into his hand ten minutes later. He holds it up to his face. 

“Alright, what’d you write here… ‘yessir, good boinking was had’–Minty,  _ boinking _ ,  _ really _ ?”

“What? Did I impress you with my expressive vocabulary?”

“Maybe. And another eleven out of ten. Now you’re just copying me.” That earns him a slap to his side. 

“Fine, give it here.” Minty leans over, scribbling a ‘twelve’ over the ‘eleven’.

“Happy now?”

“Much.” She tilts her head, returning the ‘eleven’. “Hey, no takesies backsies!”

“And in the last section, you put down ‘excellent use of fingers, definitely kept me going while you cooled down’. As for where I learned that, that secret goes to my grave with me.” Arsenal waggles his eyebrows at her, pretending to blow smoke off his fingers. “What else you got here…oh.” Surprised, he lowers the paper. “You gave me your ECHO code!”

“Why are you acting surprised that I gave it to you?” Minty retorts. 

He places a hand on his chest, acting deeply hurt. “How dare you! I am being genuine!”

“Second thought, you’re an ass. I change my mind, I want it back.” She reaches over to snatch it. He yanks it away, hopping out of the bed. 

Minty throws a pillow at his legs, toppling him. He crashes onto the floor, laughing as she plants a foot on his back to take the paper. He stuffs it into his digistruct module, waggling his eyebrows.

\--

#####  **how to be a bandit lover**

When Arsenal spots Daltos in one of the cargo bays, he practically skips over. The move earns a couple of open mouths, some concerned looks, plus a shrug from Bucker, Hawker and Hurricane. The newer bandits snicker until their buddies hastily shush them, worrying that Arsenal will hear and pick on them.

Daltos rolls his eyes at the glow that Arsenal’s radiating. “You look disgustingly happy,” He deadpans.

“That’s what getting some will do for you!” Arsenal winks and brandishes fingerguns.

“You done seeing Minty?”

“Naw, I just came to ask you something.” Arsenal drags a couple of spare crates over to sit down. It ruins the neat pile Daltos had.

“What is it?” Daltos eyes him. Whenever Arsenal asks for a favor, he knows to be wary and have at least three excuses prepared for turning it down, plus five retorts.

“Can I give Minty a tour of the frigate?” Arsenal rests his chin on his hands, the look on his face pleading. “Please?”

Daltos idly glances at one of the open airlock doors airing out the frigate. “Is she outside in a technical right now?”

“Yes,” Arsenal automatically confesses. “I told her you’d say yes!”

“Well, we’re already in an alliance with her. I don’t see why not.” Daltos goes back to the clipboard he’s holding, ignoring how Arsenal sprints off with an excited whoop out said airlock.

He returns twenty minutes later with her through a different door. Minty is hanging off one arm, her duster coat swishing around her ankles. 

“And this, my  _ dear _ , is cargo bay A. Hey, Bucker, Hawker, Hurricane, say hi to Minty!” The three and their units shout greetings (a few of them less than classy). “And by the way, she’s not afraid to step on your balls if you’re rude to her! I’ll even find some clamps for her to use!” The cheering abruptly stops.

“Oh,  _ darling _ , it’s beautiful, they’re all so obedient,” Minty says, in a posh voice so fake and high-pitched that Daltos puts down his clipboard, suppressing the urge to puke. Unfortunately, Arsenal’s leading her his way.

“Daltos, this is Minty, but you should remember her from the party.” Arsenal pins him with a look of ‘please be nice’. “Minty, Daltos.”

“Lemme guess, you two are an ‘item’, or whatever the slang for it these days is,” Daltos says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Are we?” Arsenal tilts his head to one side. “Already?”

“Oh no, I wasn’t aware that we were,” Minty says, feigning the shock in her voice. “Daltos, you shouldn’t pay so much attention to pointless gossip!”

“If Arsenal ain’t in the frigate, he’s obviously with you,” Daltos notes. His tone darkens. “Giving you my lieutenant wasn’t part the deal.”

“Hold it right there, you didn’t  _ give _ him to me, he  _ chose _ to come to me.” Minty unlinks her arm from Arsenal’s. “Who he fucks is his own fucking choice.”

“Hey, she’s right, she didn’t make me.” Arsenal stands up straight, his grin gone. “I  _ picked _ her of my own free damned will, and if you got a problem with it, be straight with me now.”

“You sure?” Daltos eyes the two of them up. “She didn’t blackmail you or anything?”

“I’m sure, and no!” Arsenal’s eyes widen. He points at Daltos. “Wait, this whole time, you thought she was  _ manipulating _ me?”

Minty snorts. “Blackmail’s not my style.”

“You went off with her after the party! And proceeded to spend almost every day of the week after that party visiting her!” Daltos defensively says.

“I  _ like _ her! That’s what you’re supposed to do when you  _ like _ someone! You spend time with them!” Arsenal makes an exaggerated gesture in her direction.

“Then explain why she called me up, wanting an alliance a week later!”

“I asked her to!” Arsenal snaps. “I didn’t want the gang getting into any more stupid fights while we finish settling in!”

“It’s true, he asked me to ask you for an alliance.” Minty tilts her hat back with a hand so her blue eyes can regard Daltos’ with calm steadiness. “I don’t want to fight you either, and it’d be a real shame to lose you two because of a bad decision.”

“You don’t believe me.” Arsenal sighs when Daltos doesn’t say anything.

“I do believe you,” Daltos slowly says, appearing reluctant.

“No you don’t. Okay, would a real couple hesitate to do this?” Arsenal turns to her, scooping her up in his arms. Minty laughs, holding onto her hat. He dips her, giving her a passionate kiss.

A bunch of watching bandits whistle and cheer, including Hurricane and Hawker. Bucker shakes their head, albeit with a grin.

“That’s fucking gross,” Daltos finally says once Arsenal’s set Minty down.

“I know, why don’t you put that rude mouth of yours to better use?” Smirking, Minty points down at her belt, thrusting her hips once in his direction.

Arsenal stifles a laugh with his hand, earning a glare from Daltos. He turns his glare on Minty. “So you’re really seeing each other.”

“Yeah!” Arsenal happily says, shooting her a look of utter devotion that’s at home in an ECHOnet show about love, and things that Daltos would prefer not knowing about.

“Speak now, or forever hold your peace,” Minty quotes, smirking still.

“Yeah, I guess I’m okay with it.” Daltos goes back to the clipboard. Bandits start to disperse, spotting no more drama to turn into gossip fuel for later. Before he can check out the rest of the goods that Ravs sent over, there’s a hand on the clipboard, forcing him to lower it. “ _ What _ ?”

“So, can I get your thoughts on a threesome?” Minty waggles her eyebrows with inappropriate enthusiasm. Behind her, Arsenal shrugs, not stopping her.

Daltos deadeyes her. “Not with you,” He retorts, despawning the clipboard to cross his arms over his chest.

“But you are open to the idea of one?” Minty inquires.

“We’re not ‘exclusive’,” Arsenal whispers to him, trying to be helpful. “Come on, nobody’s going to tattle on Pandora. Dahl’s not breathing down all our necks anymore!” His eyes widen as he points. “Holy shit, it’s your first threesome, isn’t it?”

“Look–” Daltos knows where this is headed.

“It is!” Minty slaps a fist down onto her palm, laughing. “You’re just nervous! What, nobody’s ever asked you to join a threesome before?” Minty asks, far too smugly for Daltos’ liking. “I find that  _ real _ hard to believe.”

“You’re not my first threesome,” Daltos flatly says.

“No?” Arsenal pretends to be surprised, a hand pressed to his cheek. Daltos ignores him.

Minty’s voice drops. “We don’t bite either, unless you’re into that.”

Daltos sighs. “I don’t think Ravs would be happy if I went off with you two.”

“Interesting. What makes you say that?” Minty surveys him, hands placed on her hips.

“Just a gut feeling,” Daltos lies.

“Why don’t you ask him about it?” Minty proposes. “And then get back to us?”

Saying nothing, Daltos watches the two of them stride back across the cargo bay, Arsenal chattering about the frigate to her. She nods, paying close attention. He has no plans to ask Ravs about it, placing it down to another one of their attempts to annoy him.

\--

– / / PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Arsenal: Dang, that was a really good shot. There goes one of the murder rally cars!

MintyMinute: Try to beat that, why don’t you?

Arsenal: Alright, alright. Let me reload my sniper rifle first.

MintyMinute: Ha! You missed!

Arsenal: Look, in my defense, it was because you were posing so seductively and distracted me.

MintyMinute: Arsenal, I’m shoving pizza into my mouth, I have dust and whatever knows all over me, I got a shitty Atlas gun in my lap, I haven’t showered in two days, and you still find that attractive?

Arsenal: ...Yes, yes I do. Especially since you got a bit of melted cheese dangling from your chin.

MintyMinute: Well, I’ll be. And fuck you, it’s good cheese, it can chill on my chin all it likes.

Arsenal: My body’s  _ always _ ready for you, my dear. And I’m not arguing, it’s great cheese.

MintyMinute: Boom, headshot. You going to beat that?

Arsenal: I don’t think I could catch up today. You’re literally thirty points ahead of me.

MintyMinute: Does that turn you on?

Arsenal: Maybe a little.

MintyMinute: When’s our next date?

Arsenal: Next week, I think.

MintyMinute: You want to come over to my place and round up skags? They’ve been making a real mess of my gang’s crops.

Arsenal: What, have they been making crop circles?

MintyMinute: My lieutenant spiked the bait with some of Ravs’ rejected moonshine. It didn’t work out as expected.

Arsenal: You got drunk skags in your backyard?

MintyMinute: Yes.

Arsenal: I don’t know why I find this so funny, but sure, I’ll help out.

MintyMinute: Hey, take some of the meat back if you want.

Arsenal: That’s mighty swell of you. Here, let me show you my gratitude by being a gentleman and eating the rest of your pizza.

MintyMinute: Hands off, this is my pizza!

Arsenal: You can’t finish a whole pizza off all by yourself!

MintyMinute:  _ Watch me _ , you son of a gun.

Arsenal: Minty? You continue to  _ amaze _ me.

MintyMinute: Toldja I’d finish it off.

Arsenal: Can I lick your fingers? You haven’t even left me a piece.

MintyMinute: You may. Good boy.

– / / END OF ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Daltos: Bucker, if you can get the new units settled in, that’d be great. And if not, just stick them in the brig until they stop complaining. Got it? Alright, I’m headed off to nap.

Arsenal: Sup.

MintyMinute: Hello there.

Daltos: I’m pretty sure my room was locked, and didn’t have two people trying to eat each other’s faces when I last left it.

Arsenal: Damn, I was so sure that you wouldn’t be napping until two hours later!

Daltos: That was the fakest voice I’ve ever heard.

MintyMinute: Well, no point in stopping now that we’ve been interrupted. You want in?

Daltos: This is the fifth time I’ve walked in on you two. What gives?

Arsenal: It’s called a raging libido!

MintyMinute: And when two people love each other very much–

Daltos: I know what a libido is! And what sex is!

MintyMinute: Just checking. You’d be surprised at how many bandits don’t know the difference or what those things are.

Daltos: How many times have you done it on my bed?

Arsenal: ...Two?

MintyMinute: Was three, by my last count.

Arsenal: Thank you for keeping score, love.

Daltos: Fucking–know what, get it out of your systems. Later.

MintyMinute: Well, that sure as hell didn’t work.

Arsenal: He’s usually pretty grouchy after meeting with Bucker.

MintyMinute: Okay, where’s he going next?

Arsenal: He’s going to the mess hall to get coffee. After that, he’ll smoke for a bit.

MintyMinute: I can’t believe you know his schedule off by heart.

Arsenal: It’s dead useful! Can’t deny that. Let’s go and find him.

– / / SKIPPING AHEAD TO SECOND PART OF LOG. / / –

Daltos: Had enough of wrecking my sheets?

Arsenal: Yep, we got it out of our systems.

MintyMinute: Is there any coffee left?

Daltos: No.

MintyMinute: Aw.

Arsenal: You know, he really has a stick up his ass sometimes.

MintyMinute: He really needs a dick up there instead.

Daltos: I can hear you two!

– / / SKIPPING AHEAD TO THIRD PART OF LOG. / / –

Ravs: I didn’t expect to see you for another day or so! Come in, you want a drink or anything?

Daltos: No, I had coffee before I left, and I ate as well.

Ravs: Want a hug?

Daltos: I don’t want a hug!

Ravs: That’s talk for ‘I want a hug’.

Daltos: Urgh, fine.

Ravs: Feel better yet?

Daltos: A little.

Ravs: So, what’s eating you?

Daltos: Can I sleep at your place for the next five days?

Ravs: You’re always welcome here! Just let me get some extra pillows and another blanket set up.

Daltos: Thanks.

Ravs: Did someone ambush you in your bedroom again?

Daltos: Not quite.

Ravs: Was it Minty and Arsenal?

Daltos: How’d you guess?

Ravs: The ‘done’ look on your face.

Daltos: I’m trying not to be an ass to Minty and Arsenal, but I kept walking in on them. It’s getting annoying.

Ravs: I’m so sorry. You can stay for as long as you need to, until they stop.

Daltos: Ravs?

Ravs: Yes, Daltos?

Daltos: I don’t think they’re going to stop.

Ravs: You think they’re doing it on purpose?

Daltos: Maybe they are.

Ravs: I can talk to them, if you need me to.

Daltos: No, it’s fine.

Ravs: While you’re here, you want to stay for dinner? Or do you have to go back soon?

Daltos: I can stay, if you let me cook. I got a new recipe I want to try with some meat Arsenal left me.

Ravs: Of course. Make yourself at home.

– / / END OF ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

#####  **ravs to play**

“Minty, no!”

“Minty, yes!”

Wooden game pieces cascade onto the floor. The board drops onto the supply crate it’d been resting on. One last game piece rolls in a sad circle, ending up next to a boot. The boot kicks it aside, sending it into parts unknown.

“You  _ flipped _ the board again!” Arsenal crawls on his hands and knees, seeking out the pieces he needs that have rolled away. “Bad!”

“That I did,” Minty lazily drawls, blowing a smoke cloud over the top of the table. Arsenal emerges with a handful of hand carved, wooden pieces that he drops off in a tin box.

“You’re not allowed to flip the board!” Arsenal says, sighing exasperatedly as he sits down on the crate he’d been using as a chair. “The rules–”

“If the rules let anybody walking by drop off a randomass piece, then I say that I’m allowed to flip the fucking thing.” Unconcerned, Minty leans on the table. She leans over to pat Arsenal’s hand at the distressed look on his face. “Look, my savoury bun, I adore you very much, but I cannot play this fucking game for the life of me.”

“Fair enough.” He perks up. “How about I go easy on you–”

“No,” Minty bluntly says. “Ask someone else.”

“Nobody around here  _ gets _ the game,” Arsenal says, making a face.

“Here comes Ravs, you can ask him.” Minty waves as Ravs kicks over a crate to sit down.

“How’s Daltos today?” None of them, save for Ravs, have seen Daltos. He’s off on a scouting run.

“Oh, he’s in a  _ very _ good mood,” Ravs easily says, beaming. He lowers his voice. “Thanks to me.”

“He won’t be if you ask him to play,” Arsenal says, with a dejected look thrown at the reassembled board.

“Ravs, I need you to play this stupid game with Arsenal so I can peg him later,” Minty bluntly says. Arsenal still looks down. Normally he’d be excited to hear her talk about later fun.

“Sure, anything to help a ‘friend’ out.” Ravs winks at her, pulling his crate closer to the box with the board laid out onto it. “So, how’s this work?”

Arsenal perks up so fast that Minty snorts. “Pegging,  _ and _ a game with Ravs? Today’s my lucky day.” He picks up the collected pieces, laying them out. “It’s like chess, but Minty or anybody can drop whatever pieces they want on the board. The game ends when all the pieces of one side’s taken out.”

Ravs’ brow furrows. “I think I’ve seen my lieutenants playing this. It don’t look so hard.”

“You’re in for a hell of a time,” Minty flatly says. “Just wait until those horrible twins decide to dump five new ones on  _ both _ sides.”

“You ain’t got any patience, that’s why,” Arsenal observes. “What side, Ravs?”

“Black, please,” Ravs cheerfully says as Arsenal swings the board around.

“Here we go!”

“What the fuck are you two playing? ...It’s not that stupid game again, is it?”

“Daltos! Whatever happened to your good mood?”

“Minty, I  _ was _ in a good mood, until I saw you three sitting at the board.”

“Want to watch? Assuming you’re not not tired of watching already…”

“I’m better off doing some actual work than wasting my time on this. I thought you were better than this, Ravs.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Pass.”

“Daltos, I’ll come with you. Arsenal, Ravs, see you later.”

“You can stay, I don’t need you around to kick my lieutenants for me. And they didn’t even hear you.” Daltos turns to Minty.

“This just in, Arsenal likes a big fat cock in his–” Minty deadpans, looking like she’s about to drop a piece on the board. Daltos does so for her. She gives him an appreciative look.

“Depends, whose cock is it? I’m very picky about my cocks,” Arsenal says with a straight face, moving the piece Daltos dropped onto the playing field.

“It could be mine, but my dick belongs solely to Daltos for now. See you for dinner!” Ravs chuckles, taking a piece Minty offers him.

“Minty, pizza’s on me this time!” Arsenal shouts as Minty and Daltos are leaving.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, I’m not going to say anything about hogging Ravs’ dick.”

“You don’t need to, everybody already knows it. Honestly, your lieutenants are so much more efficient when I’m around.”

“It’s because they’re scared shitless of you after you cut that guy’s dick off and spoonfed it to him.”

“All the more reason to keep me around.”

“This isn’t the way to my war room.”

“You don’t have to be there for another hour. Let’s get some coffee.”

“You ain’t going to spike it or anything, are you?”

“I ain’t that stupid as to kill my boyfriend’s bestie. He’d cry at your funeral.”

“No, he’d  _ piss _ on my grave at my funeral. He’d cry at yours.”

“I’m trying to be polite. You’re making this  _ very _ difficult.”

“It’s freaking me out. Please go back to being a crass, trash-talking bandit who could rip my dick off anytime if she wanted to.”

“Alright, let’s go up to your room and make good use of that hour. I’ll let you keep your dick.”

“As I told you, Ravs and Arsenal a million times, I ain’t interested.”

“Why not?”

“It’s fucking obvious.”

“No, it ain’t.”

“You three can go off and have all the fun you like, but leave me alone.”

“That ain’t happening.”

“Is this the part where you give me some noble speech about bandits sticking together?”

“Ha, no! I’d rather eat a skag pearl than do any of that mushy crap. All I’m saying is, you’re what, only twenty something? You got a whole world out there. Make it yours. Just stop making Ravs worry about not being enough for you.”

“You know, that does technically qualify as a speech.”

“Not to me, son, not to me.”

“How many sugars you want in your coffee?”

“Give me three of the cubed suckers.”

“Sweet tooth, huh?”

“How do I like my coffee? Like my people: as sweet as fuck.”

“Here’s one coffee, loaded up with enough sugar to make you high for six hours.”

“Perfect. You never responded about making Ravs worry.”

“We do talk.”

“Then talk more!”

“About what?”

“Shit, just tell him that you want to take things slow. He’s also worried that you’re not interested anymore.”

“I  _ am _ interested.”

“He needs to hear it from you, without someone quoting.”

“Did he talk to you about this?”

“Not exactly. He’s been asking Arsenal an awful lot of questions if this or that’s normal. For a laidback guy, Ravs frets more than he lets on.”

“You talk like you really know Ravs.”

“I’ve known him since he set up shop next door to me. Twas more than a year ago.”

“Did you fuck him too?”

“Oh,  _ yes _ , I did.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“I know a good lay when I see one. What about you?”

“Planning on it. Eventually.”

“Well, get to it soon. Arsenal and me can only do so much to stop him feeling guilty that he’s not doing it with you, even if you said that it’s okay.”

“Thanks, bitch.”

“You’re welcome, motherfucker.”

\--

“Arsenal! You awake yet?” Minty knocks on the door to his room. Getting no answer, she impatiently inputs the code to Arsenal’s room. The door slides back. She sticks her head in to search for him. 

There’s the poster of the scantily clad, attractive woman in clown makeup and carnival-esque outfit, cluttered workbenches, gun parts, storage units, a dead robot’s body serving as a table, and the most important item in the room: his bed.

The bed’s empty. He never makes his bed, viewing it as pointless if ‘we’re just going to dive into it later’. Minty closes the door, striding down the hallway to the cargo bay. He’s not answering his ECHO device.

Daltos isn’t around for her to interrogate him about Arsenal’s whereabouts. That’s when she spots Arado, one of the other lieutenants, hovering outside a room. She makes a beeline right for them.

Arado spots her, of course, standing up straighter like she’s a sergeant and they’re a private desperate to avoid catching flak for something small that’s out of place, an untied bootlace, perhaps. Fortunately, Minty’s focused on wanting to know where Arsenal’s gone to pick on them today.

“Hey, where’s Arsenal?”

“He’s in this room,” is the quick response. Minty moves past Arado and into– _ chaos _ . 

Where and how Arsenal and Ravs acquired a hundred wooden game pieces within a week, she doesn’t have a single fucking clue. It’s like a game shop got murdered and left to bleed its contents across the room.

“Don’t step on that!” Arsenal’s voice drifts out of the wreck somewhere to her left.

“Step on what?” Minty blinks, lowering her boot. Her boot had been about to knock over a wooden piece shaped a bit like a child’s drawing of a boat. Whatever it’s supposed to be is beyond her.

“The rook!” Arsenal calls out. This time, his voice comes over a sheet draped on top of a bunch of crates. “Alright, Hawker, move piece fifty-nine to take rook, bishop, bishop and queen!”

“You got it!” A gleeful voice shouts from  _ another _ room. The game must be spreading beyond the cargo bay.

“Fuck!” Ravs’ voice shouts. Minty locates his voice to another fort, barely visible through the jammed door of the other room. “I was planning a cool move with those pieces!”

“You got other pieces!”

“They’ll stop when they’re busy, hungry, tired or need to pee,” states Daltos’ resigned voice. She turns, to see him standing in the doorway, pulling out a cigarette. He offers her one.

“Want to go and get coffee again?” Minty accepts it.

“As we’ve been doing for the past three days? Sure.” Daltos leads the way to the kitchen. Arsenal and Ravs continue to shout at each other.

“Why haven’t you stopped them yet?”

“I’m not going to be a party pooper,” Daltos says. He’s not as bothered by this as she thought he’d be.

Minty contemplates taking a vacuum cleaner to the room. Ultimately, Arsenal and Ravs are going to restart the game until that one’s done if she does do that. Thus, Minty sighs, putting her thoughts on how to stop the game to one side.

The coffee Daltos makes is lighter this time, on the sugar; she hadn’t told him how much to put in. Maybe he’s aware she doesn’t need to be jittery for hours today.

Ravs prefers his coffee so sickly sweet that she expects giant clumps of the white stuff to cling to the spoon when mixing it. Arsenal tips his right out of the coffee cache and into a mug, with no extras needed between the making and the drinking. 

The last time he’d let her try some of his brew, she’d promptly dumped a generous spoonful of sugar into it, ‘ruining’ it for him. She secretly suspects he didn’t know he could put sugar into it, and takes it pure black to try to impress her.

For some reason, Daltos preferring his coffee with minimal additions comforts her, in that she and him drink their coffee like ‘normal’ people.

The two of them smoke and sit in comfortable silence, sipping from their coffee in the mess hall. It’s bright outside, and a lot of bandits are causing as much havoc as possible when a ball is involved.

They’re playing a sports game, involving chucking a leather ball about, with the rules changing every minute or so. The current referee is an enormous Psycho bandit called ‘Cant’. They’ve held the referee role for two months; nobody else dares to argue with a two metre tall bandit who could wreck out someone’s innards with a single swipe.

Back home, her gang’s moping about under the cool shelter of buildings, the heat making them sleepier than usual, compared to Ravs and Daltos’ rowdier lot. Hollie’s got the run of the coop. It’s good practice for her to learn how to take charge while Minty’s away.

Daltos is leafing through a gun catalogue that someone had the kindness to let him take off them.

“Arsenal’d like this.” He hands her the magazine to have a look at the pistol advertised.

“He would.” Minty hands it back. She doesn’t exactly share Arsenal’s passion for weaponry, but she knows from information osmosis to hold an argument of her own if anybody tries to make her doubt herself.

The two drink another round of coffee, attempt to engage in an excruciating amount of small talk before giving up, going ‘fuck that’ and joining in on the sports game outside the frigate.

She’s sure she’s broken a few kneecaps and made at least five bandits cry by the time she troops into the cargo bay after Daltos to cool down.

Minty raises an eyebrow when Arsenal and Ravs appear.

Arsenal’s fixing his jacket, folding the collar back down. It doesn’t do anything to hide the marks along one side of his neck, or the way his tousled hair isn’t sticking up in its usual style.

Ravs is combing back his own hair with one hand. He adjusts the leather straps keeping his kilt up. The pink suffusing his face is fading.

“Did you miss us?” He greets, leaning over to try to kiss Daltos.

“Nope,” Daltos says, dodging the kiss without looking up from his canteen.

“You look like you had a workout of your own too,” Ravs observes, sighing a little.

“Could have used you for the front position out there,” Daltos says, lifting his head to frown at him. “We won though, by about three points.”

“Was there a game today? I’m so sorry, I forgot!” Ravs exclaims, slapping his forehead. “I’ll be there next time.” He tries to take a hand.

“No, it’s fine.” Daltos doesn’t let him, standing up. He despawns the canteen. “I’m going to shower.”

“Excellent, I was thinking of a shower myself. Maybe I can borrow your shower?”

“You’re  _ not _ sharing my shower,” Daltos says.

“You don’t have to be in it with me to have a good time.”

“No,” Daltos bluntly says, heading off.

Ravs sighs, staring forlornly after him. Arsenal and Minty glance at each other. “On the other hand,  _ we _ wouldn’t mind sharing with you,” Arsenal invites. He wonders if he should point out that Daltos isn’t actually mad; chances are that he’s just in need of an uninterrupted nap following the game.

Ravs hums, grinning. “I like this idea.”

“So who won?” Minty asks.

“I did,” Ravs and Arsenal say, at the same time. The two shoot a confused look at each other, before bursting into laughter.

\--

#####  **101 bandits**

Arsenal resists the urge to flick a pen in Daltos’ direction. Daltos is going over the strike for the second time, painting out a path with his finger across the geographical map of Pandora (courtesy of a scout team). This doesn’t involve Arsenal, but he’s still just as invested in the end result if they’re sending over at least two units to pick another fight over borders. Nobody likes being a sore loser.

Gotha’s (one of the rare Goliaths in command) watching the table raptly, red eyes visible through the slit in their metal helmet. Those red eyes follow Daltos’ hand. The exact extent of Gotha’s intelligence could be hotly debated, up until the helmet’s torn off.

Cant slinks behind Bucker, Bucker signing a translation for the battle plan as Daltos goes through it. That’s nothing strange. Arado’s paying attention, chewing on a toothpick to the point of splintering it. If there’s anybody else to note, Arsenal can’t see them and doesn’t give a shit.

Hurricane and Hawker are trying to listen. One’s trying. The other one isn’t, nodding off. An elbow from Hurricane jolts Hawker into sitting up straight, squinting at the map until their eyes drift shut.

This does not escape Daltos’ notice. He lifts his head up, giving Hawker a look of mild disdain. “Hawker? Stop falling asleep and pay attention, your unit’s important to this skirmish.”

Hawker shakes their head, snapping grumpily, “Fine,  _ dad _ .”

Dead silence follows. Arado stops chewing on their toothpick, scarred face twisting into a hideous grin that’s wiped a second later. Cant’s stopped pacing behind Bucker, who’d automatically signed ‘dad’, frowning in confusion before staring. Gotha looks between Hawker and Daltos like the two are lobbing a ball back and forth. Everybody else waits for Hawker to get ripped a new one.

Hurricane belatedly slaps a hand over Hawker’s mouth, shooting a nervous grin at Daltos. Daltos just stares at Hawker. Arsenal raises both eyebrows. Hawker glances at him, expression pleading for help. Arsenal shrugs, proving that he’s not going be any great help whatsoever.

The other lieutenants stop holding their breath when Daltos simply says, “Dismissed, except for Arsenal.”

Hawker and Hurricane are out the door so fast that there’s almost a slipstream. The other lieutenants pile out. Arsenal seals the doors once it’s just him and Daltos left.

“Are they all gone?” Daltos quietly asks.

“Yeah,” Arsenal confirms, moving to his side. Urgh, Hawker’s a terrible prankster, as nosy as fuck but a fantastic pilot, and Arsenal does genuinely like the guy. Hawker owes him one for this. “Hey, don’t kill Hawker–”

Daltos bursts into uncontrollable laughter. “Hawker called me ‘ _ dad _ ’, did you fucking hear?”

The reaction is weird, but not that weird, and Arsenal’s grinning too, already working out how to take this one step further. “He sure did,  _ daddy _ .”

“No!” Daltos is doubled over on the spot. “Don’t call me that!” He’s trying to sound outraged but is still laughing. There’s definitely tears, delicious tears.

Arsenal’s already responding with, “Daddy-o, then.” He closes his mouth as Daltos stops for a second to process what he just said. The two start to laugh at the same time.

Chairs are dragged over before the two of them can end up on the floor. He’s never actually heard Daltos  _ giggling _ before.

“I’m too young to be a dad,” Daltos says, wiping his face with his sleeve.

“Naw, you’re just the right age,” Arsenal delightedly responds. “And you’re not too old to be  _ my _ daddy, daddy.”

“Stop calling me that!” Daltos kicks the chair’s leg, trying to knock it out from under Arsenal. Arsenal just grabs his chair, hopping to one side. Daltos lunges at him.

Arsenal leaps off the chair. It clatters to the floor as Daltos tries to tackle Arsenal to wallop him. Arsenal vaults over the table, running straight at the door. The doors part, just in the nick of time.

“Daddy’s hopping mad!” He hollers at the top of his voice, sprinting through the bridge and escaping down a hallway. 

Bandits stare at the direction in which Arsenal ran like he’s got the ball and two Goliaths are after him. Daltos leans on the doorway, wondering what sort of fresh hell Arsenal’s unleashed on the frigate this time.

\--

“We got a hot dad, don’t we, Hawker?” Arsenal’s touching up a technical’s paint job. Hawker glares at him, furiously mixing the paint to the point of making the tin clatter.

“I swear to Skagzilla that I hate you so much, but I’m also scared shitless of you, so I’ll just shut the fuck up right now before I say something else I regret,” Hawker says in one breath. The other lieutenants have been mercilessly making fun of Hawker for their colossal verbal slip-up. Hawker fucking hates it. Even Hurricane’s joining in.

Daltos makes a pained face whenever Arsenal calls him ‘daddy’ in earshot. He stopped punching Arsenal after Arsenal kept moaning, ‘ooh, hurt me more, daddy’.

“Daddy’s gone out on a date with Ravs today,” Arsenal says.

“Oh shit, what if Ravs becomes our new dad?” Hawker rounds on Arsenal, clutching a paintbrush. Drops of red splash onto the floor. “I once saw him crush a dude’s head with his bare hands!”

“You ruin my floor, I make you scrub it with a wire brush screwed to your face,” Arsenal reprimands, kicking a spare bucket underneath the drips. “But yeah, if one of of them pops the question, we’ll have not one, but  _ two _ hot dads!”

“No!” Hawker’s dismayed shriek of denial earns a couple of cursory glances.

“Why not?” Arsenal rests his paintbrush in the bucket he’s currently using to keep his freshly made up stock of navy blue paint. “Ravs is a great guy! He cooks, cleans, cleans up after himself, is  _ amazing _ in bed–”

“I ain’t gonna ask how you know that last one,” Hawker mutters.

“He could crush me with those thick thighs of his and I’d thank him–” Arsenal dreamily talks over them.

There’s a splash. Blue paint spills down Hawker’s shoulders, running down his form. He’d upended the paint bucket over his own head to shut out Arsenal’s chatter.

Arsenal just clicks his tongue. He sticks the paintbrush in another bucket. “Waste of good paint.”

“If I don’t have to hear you going on about Ravs’ thick thighs, then so be it,” Hawker’s peeved, muffled voice says.

“You seen Hawker?” Arado strolls over, ignoring the paint drenched bandit. “Hurricane’s still throwing up from eating those expired ration bars for that dare, so they’re no good for this next run.”

“Nope,” Arsenal says, hanging a ‘WET PAINT’ sign on the technical’s hood.

“Well, if you see the prick, Daltos needs a lift.”

“Ah, so daddy would like a pick-me-up,” Arsenal says. He suggestively adds, “Why doesn’t he just ECHO Ravs?”

Arado snorts, shaking their head. “Just pass on the message.”

Hawker doesn’t budge until Arado’s left the cargo bay. Arsenal pulls out a string of decorative lights, stringing them up around Hawker’s bucket head. As an afterthought, he loops them around Hawker’s ankles too.

“I could talk about Minty’s fantastic assets instead–”

Hawker reacts by trying to run away, tripping and crashing to the floor. The bucket spins around their head. Arsenal points and laughs, tugging the bucket off their head. “Did you have a nice trip?”

“You’re a fucking asshole, Arsenal,” Hawker sourly retorts, paint running down their goggled eyes.

“I know I am,” Arsenal happily says. The paint bucket’s dumped on Hawker’s head, much to their chagrin.

\--

Arsenal answers the door when it’s knocked. Daltos looks down, then back up. His grumpy expression doesn’t budge.

“Yes?” Arsenal drawls, leaning on the doorway. “How can I help my daddy?”

“Put on some clothes first, and then let’s talk,” Daltos evenly says.

“It ain’t my fault you just woke me up from a really good nap.” Bandits in the hallway flee the scene when they spot Arsenal shrug before closing the door.

Ten minutes later, Arsenal opens the door again, straightening his jacket and bandolier. “What’s up, did Ravs leave you hanging again?”

“I haven’t seen him for a whole week since he took off with Minty to go do that fight on the coast for us,” Daltos reminds.

“I bet you’re really looking forward to his reunion,” Arsenal says, with a suggestive tone. “I know I am, with Minty. We got some cool, kinky shit planned, oh yes.” He rubs his hands together, beaming. Daltos rolls his eyes. “Don’t be jealous.”

“Ain’t.”

“What me and Minty have is  _ pure _ .”

“I think you have the opposite of ‘pure’ there.”

“Our love is pure, at least!”

“As pure as a one-night stand can be,” Daltos mutters.

“Don’t you diss one-night stands,” Arsenal argues. “They’re  _ magical _ .”

“I run a gang where Klemm using bandaids is ‘coddling’, Fieseler’s card tricks are ‘witchcraft’, and you’re trying to tell me that one-night stands are ‘magical’.”

“Hey, I’m just saying that if you got an itch to scratch, I’m your man.” Arsenal digs through a fridge, emerging with a juice box. “There’s nothing I won’t do for you.” 

The sad part is, Arsenal sounds utterly sincere when he says that last part. 

Daltos cobbles together a response since Arsenal’s looking at him strangely. “I ain’t having a one-night stand with you.”

“You wouldn’t be the first Bandit Lord who’s fucked their lieutenant.” Arsenal sounds matter-of-fact about telling him. “Except I’d actually be up for it.”

“No.” Daltos shakes his head. “That’s abuse of authority–”

Arsenal grabs him. “How many times do I have to tell you? We’re not in the military anymore!” The lack of an ‘ain’t’ nags at Daltos’ hearing.

“Did Minty put you up to this?” He eventually asks.

“Fuck’s sake, you really are fucking dense.” Arsenal sighs, stepping back. The straw’s ripped out of its cover and stabbed in. He strides off without waiting for him.

Daltos jogs to catch up with him in the mess hall, where Arsenal nabs a free table using a single glare. He sits down, folding his legs underneath.

Arsenal and him have been through all the hardships of Dahl captaincy since they met on this same frigate. He’s never loathed Daltos for pulling ahead of him, having seniority when the two (well, three, including a certain traitor) should have been on the exact same level. 

Thanks to Arsenal’s extended hospital stay due to top surgery, he’d been held back; it’d been worth it, though, even if people think he’s out to get Daltos with how much he picks on him. Arsenal isn’t.

He’s watched him navigate a relationship with Zylus, answered each and every single one of his concerns, no matter how stupid Daltos thinks it sounds. 

In turn, a friendship took root; Daltos tipped him off about the mutiny, and Arsenal had held down the armoury with Hawker, Bucker and Hurricane as the ship tilted and began to breach atmosphere. If he’d been in the mess hall when it’d began, he wouldn’t be alive today.

He’d been incredibly worried that he’d find Daltos’ dead body on the bridge post-crash. What he’d found was a former captain staring forlornly at the hole in the side of the frigate.

It’d taken him two hours to convince Daltos to take up the position of rallying the marooned soldiers and prisoners. Doing so broke him out of his shock. See, Arsenal would have risen to the occasion himself, but he’d never get Daltos back from whatever dark place he’d shut himself up in for shooting Zylus or for dooming them all.

Besides, Arsenal likes to watch.

“Forget about what I just said,” Arsenal drawls when Daltos looks like he’s about to talk. “It ain’t worth arguing about until we’re both ready to brawl.”

Daltos can actually take a hint when it’s pretty damn clear. “What can I do to make you stop calling me ‘daddy’ every single time we see each other?”

Arsenal noisily sips from the juicebox. He nods, slipping the straw from his mouth. The box is offered. Grinning, Arsenal says (without any trace of shame whatsoever), “Drink my juice, daddy.”

Daltos’ eyes narrow. The juice box’s slapped. It falls to the floor. Arsenal stands up. “I hate you!” He flounces out of the mess hall.

“You’re grounded!” Daltos shouts after him.

\--

Minty’s homestead is a former ghost town, miles of open, sparse desert and empty dirt roads surrounding it. It takes half an hour to reach her. If anybody ever tried to attack, Minty would see them coming from miles away. She also has the most snipers out of the three gangs.

She has a bandage tied around her head from sustaining a punch. Klemm prescribed bed rest. Minty went ‘fuck that’ and proceeded to make pasta instead.

She also threatened to tie Arsenal down to the bed if he tried to intervene, so he’s quietly dogsitting the three skag pups she adopted. She’d named the skags after her three favourite bandits.

Whenever Arsenal visits, he’s never sure if she’s calling for him or the skag with his name. Usually it’s him she wants. 

Daltos locks Ravs out the bathroom when Ravs suggests joining him in the shower. Foiled, Ravs heads outside to join Arsenal. Ravs unlocks the screen door, stepping outside onto the back porch. It’s a cool evening. One skag pups trots over to him, sticking its head up under his kilt to sniff.

“Oi, I’m not hiding any treats up there,” Ravs lectures, gently pushing its head away.

“You sure?” Arsenal calls. He’s rubbing the belly of one skag, its pink tongue lolling out in pure bliss, four limbs waving about in the air.

Ravs laughs. The last skag is dozing under the porch, beside Arsenal’s leg. The one who’d tried to sniff Ravs ambles back over, clearly wanting some attention.

Arsenal scratches it behind the head, around the neck plates. Ravs and Arsenal wait outside, making small talk until Minty calls them in.

Minty’s house is located at the back of the town, separated from the other lots by a picket fence. Maybe whoever built it had been hoping to live the suburban dream on Pandora. Well, it’s all hers now.

The skags whine in the doorway at being left behind. Minty’s got them well-trained to stay outside whenever people are over. People’s boots got slobbered or chewed on when the skags are loose in the house.

Daltos is setting the table when Ravs and Arsenal troop in. He and Minty are talking about how the battle went; Ravs bounced back with a few arm scars to add to his growing collection. Minty got that punch to the head, responding by filling her attacker with a mouthful of lead.

“Sit your asses down and get ready for the best pasta of your lives,” Minty says. She doles out heapings of steaming pasta onto the plates Ravs passes her.

“This smells wonderful,” Ravs compliments, sitting next to Daltos. Arsenal sits opposite Daltos, Minty taking the chair beside him. There’s an empty spot to her right.

“Dibs on the bathroom if I need to throw up,” Daltos says. Minty can’t kick him from where she’s sitting.

“I’m ready to be stuffed,” Arsenal jokes, doing so for her. Daltos grunts.

“Aren’t you always?” Minty says, without missing a beat. The two high-five, grinning. Ravs laughs. It coaxes a hastily stifled laugh from Daltos. “Oh yeah, my lieutenant’s dropping by to join us whenever they’re done primping.”

“Here, try out my new moonshine. Heinkel and me were experimenting. Tell me what you think of it.” Ravs passes out bottles of booze.

Minty promptly uncaps hers, taking a giant swig of it. All of them hear and see Klemm shaking their head. “Fuck me, this is some good shit right here.”

“No, no, fuck me,” Arsenal generously says. Everyone save him ends up with a fork. Arsenal searches under his bottle of rakk ale, the tablecloth, his plate and finally, his hand. He sighs. “Pass a fork, daddy,” he says.

Ravs pauses in the middle of lifting his own pasta coated fork to his mouth. Minty’s eyebrows rise until they’re no longer visible underneath the bandage. Wearing identical shit-eating grins, the two turn to Daltos.

“It’s not what you think.” He drops a fork onto Arsenal waiting hand, succeeding in the urge to stab him.

“What have you two been up to, while we were gone?” Minty innocently inquires.

“Nothing  _ that _ naughty!” Arsenal pretends to look scandalised while enthusiastically digging into his plate of pasta.

“One of my lieutenants accidentally called me ‘dad’ during a meeting and  _ he _ ,” Daltos jabs a finger at him, “fucking went and turned it into a meme.”

“I love it!” Ravs roars with laughter, as with Minty. This makes Daltos shoot the two a half-hearted glare. Smiling, Ravs turns to him. “Aw, babe, don’t be like that.”

“Shut the fuck up, and eat your fucking pasta,” Daltos grumbles.

“What, are you gonna make him sleep on the couch tonight?” Minty drawls.

“Easy. I withhold cuddling,” Daltos bluntly says. “I don’t even have a couch in my room.” Too busy eating, he misses the devious glint in Arsenal’s eye.

“What? No, don’t do that!” With a look of abject horror, Ravs drops his fork.

“You’re not going to actually  _ die _ if you don’t cuddle with me,” Daltos retorts.

“No, but I might just feel very neglected.”

“You always feel neglected if someone isn’t paying attention to you!”

“You also didn’t withhold cuddles with these two,” Ravs points out, with a triumphant grin.

“Okay, you can’t sleep with these two either.”

“Minty, if we ever stop having a romp in your bed, slap me,” Arsenal whispers to her while the other two bicker.

Minty boops him on the nose. “Of course, and I’ll do it as hard as I can.”

“That’s what I like to hear from you, my spicy croissant.”

“You’re so considerate, my sweetie pie.”

“Here, let me feed you, my little muffin.”

“I got me a quality savoury sandwich.”

“Swear that you’ll punch me if I ever stoop to that level of madness,” Daltos mutters. Ravs sighs. Under the table, his hand creeps on Daltos’ thigh. Daltos flips his fork in his hand, stabbing it below the table. Ravs whistles, removing his hand as Daltos keeps eating like nothing happened.

A knock on the doorframe draws all their attention. Minty gets up, striding over to the screen door. The figure there bats at the skags hopping up and down, all huffing and panting in greeting.

“Hols! About time, I didn’t think you’d show up at all,” Minty greets. “Daltos, Arsenal, Ravs, down!”

Ravs sweeps his gaze over the table. “We might have eaten all the pasta,” He whispers to Daltos and Arsenal while Minty’s occupied.

“Whoops,” Arsenal whispers.

“Was nice knowing both of you,” Daltos says. “You two ate all of it, not me.”

“You had two plates as well!”

“You had one more than me!”

The door’s pulled back to reveal a masked Marauder in ill-fitting clothes and boots.

The Marauder shuffles in, holding up a gloved hand in greeting. “Sorry, got sidetracked, couldn’t pick a jacket to wear.” Their voice has no inflection to indicate any hint of joking.

“Sit, we got booze, we’re about to play cards once we finish–well,” Minty glances across the table, “the pasta,” She flatly says.

“Anyone up for pizza?” Arsenal interrupts. His chair’s knocked back from how fast he stands.

“I’ll get it,” Daltos volunteers, already moving across the kitchen. He snatches his jacket off the hook by the screen door, tugging it back–only for Ravs to clap a hand onto his arm.

“All by yourself? I don’t think so, it’s a bit dangerous out there for a Bandit Lord to go wandering around on his own,” Ravs says in a low voice.

“I can find the pizza place on my own.”

“You’re also dressed like a bandit. They’ll never serve you.”

Daltos considers this piece of advice. “I’ll figure something out.”

“You can’t buy pizza naked, but I’m sure they’d appreciate the view too,” Ravs says.

“I can go,” Hols speaks up.

“I can!” Arsenal insists. 

Ravs also grabs him. “Either we all go or not at all!”

“Hols, you’re not wriggling out of this dinner,” Minty instantly says. “So  _ I’ll _ get the pizza. Apparently, I dress like a sheriff anyway. You four behave yourselves, alright?” She slaps Arsenal’s ass before striding out. “See you in half an hour. Feel free to start without me, sweetcakes.”

Arsenal wistfully rubs the spot where she’d slapped him. “So, your name’s Hols?”

“Yessir,” Hols says, looking at the three of them. 

The goggles under the mask conceals all traces of their eyes, as with their face. Arsenal wonders if the look would be helpful for Arado, given Arado’s inclination to wear a helmet in places that aren’t the frigate.

“Little short for a bandit,” Daltos mutters, hanging his jacket back up.

“I didn’t eat much as a kid, sir.” Hols stands up straighter when Ravs walks over to extend a hand.

“I’m Ravs, but you probably already knew that.” They still take Ravs’ offered hand, shaking it with all the air of someone dreading a surprise metal spike through the palm. Ravs’ enthusiasm makes up for it. “This is Daltos and Arsenal. They live out in the Dahl Headlands, causing all kinds of shit up there as our nearest borderhuggers.”

Arsenal raises a hand in greeting. “Sup.”

“Hi,” Daltos says with significantly less enthusiasm.

“Nice to meet you, sirs.”

“Drop the ‘sir’, please.” Arsenal coughs, shuddering. “It’s hitting a liiiittle close to former Dahl military territory for my taste.” He looks at Daltos. Daltos nods in agreement.

“I’m sorry!” Hols stiffens. “I didn’t realise! Oh,  _ Sirens, _ Minty used to be part of it too!”

“If she had a problem with it, I’m sure she’d have let you know,” Ravs smoothly cuts in. “I don’t think she minds.”

“Sorry,” Hols says in a small voice.

“Would you like some moonshine?” Ravs is already pulling out an empty chair, also slapping a bottle down onto the table. “Come! Minty’ll be a while, so no point standing around and doing nothing when there’s better things to do.”

Hols settles down, fiddling with the bottle. Their gloves slip on the cap. Ravs cracks it open for them. “Thanks.”

“It’s alright, everybody has that problem with gloves.” Ravs sends Daltos a knowing look as he settles onto his own chair.

“So, what’s it like being Minty’s lieutenant?” Arsenal breaks the ice before it can get awkward. He flashes Hols a friendly grin. “I don’t see you hanging around the frigate much.” His chair squeaks against the floor when he sits.

“I keep on top of things while Minty’s gone,” Hols says. They appear to realise that they can’t drink with the mask on, keeping the bottle close at hand to fiddle with it instead. “There isn’t–ain’t–much to do, really, except for breaking up fights, keeping supplies running, and feeding Daltos, Arsenal and Ravs...” They trail off, only to put their head into their hands. “ _ Sirens _ , she named the skags after you!”

Ravs and Arsenal burst out laughing. Daltos’ mouth twitches like he also wants to laugh, but refrains, busying with washing up the plates. The plates are neatly stacked in the drying rack by the sink. 

“Of course she did!” Ravs points at the one mournfully eyeing the screen door. “Minty’s got a great sense of humour!”

“It’s her little joke,” Arsenal wheezes. “We’re her ‘good boys’.”

“How the fuck did I miss that?” Hols moans, nearly sliding off their chair in embarrassment.

Ravs snickers. “No harm done, so relax. Really, relax.” He glances at Arsenal, an eyebrow raised. “Time for cards?”

“Indeed, it’s time for cards,” Arsenal says, nodding. He digistructs a ratty pack of playing cards. They snap in his hand when he deftly shuffles, yellowed edges fluttering. “Daddy, you playing?” Grubby cards thwip across the table. Hols blinks, trying to work out if Arsenal meant that.

“Yeah,” Daltos says, sitting next to Ravs. The wet dishcloth’s lobbed in Arsenal’s direction. Arsenal catches it in one hand, throwing it into the sink.

“I’ll watch,” Hols says, when Arsenal offers them cards. “I’ve actually never played this game before.”

“Oh, we play it whenever we have dinner at Minty’s place,” Arsenal vaguely explains, slapping the remainder of the deck into the middle of the table. He grins at Ravs. “You tell ‘em the rest, this is your jam.”

“It’s like poker, except it’s more fun since we end up taking all our clothes off.” Ravs picks up the explanation when Arsenal doesn’t elaborate. “This is  _ strip _ poker.”

Hols bumps the table when they fully sit up. “ _ What _ ?” They stumble out of their chair to rifle through Minty’s cupboards for a pack of straws.

“Hopefully it won’t be me getting naked first this time,” Daltos says, scanning his hand. Behind him, Hols makes a nearly inaudible, dying sound.

“That’s what you get for cheating,” Arsenal says, leaning back with his hand fanning his face.

“We don’t get completely naked, we just go down to our underwear.” Ravs looks thoughtful. “That is, assuming we’re all wearing underwear.”

Arsenal lifts his hand with a single finger raised. Cards are clenched between his teeth. “One sec.” He tugs up his jacket. The cards are spat out into one hand. “Yep, definitely wearing them today.”

Daltos lays his cards face-down, undoing his belt to slide his pants down his hips, just far enough to check. He kicks Ravs’ chair when Ravs leans over (trying not to be obvious about it). “Arsenal, I think I’m wearing your underwear.”

Hols knocks over an empty mug when Daltos says that. “Shit!” They hastily correct it, relieved that it’d been empty.

“You are?” Arsenal checks his pants again. “Huh, I might be wearing yours today, actually.” He winks at Daltos, who rolls his eyes in response. “No wonder why it feels roomier down there.” Another mug’s knocked over by Hols.

“That’s a story that I need to hear, right the  _ fuck _ now.” Ravs polishes off the last of his rakk ale, grabbing another bottle to pop the cap off.

“Ehhh, we were pranking each other and our laundry accidentally got jumbled during one of them couple weeks back. We still haven’t figured out who owns what.” Arsenal examines his cards.

“So we just split it in half.” Daltos shrugs.

“There’s nothing wrong with sharing clothes,” Ravs says. He lowers his voice to a seductive baritone. “ _ Especially _ if you get to take them off the other parties later.” 

Hols suppresses a giggle, wondering if the rest of the night is going to be exactly like this.

The three decide who goes first by playing rock, paper, scissors. Hols tracks down a straw (which are stashed with Minty’s impressive collection of knives; for some reason, she has a lot of them, of varying sizes, shapes and makes). They plonk themself on their chair to watch the game.

A minute later, Arsenal shimmies out of his jacket, thrusting his hips once in Ravs’ and Daltos’ directions. He’s wearing a red t-shirt underneath. The jacket’s thrown onto the back of his chair. Chuckling, Ravs briefly puts his hands down to clap. Daltos shakes his head, otherwise ignoring Arsenal.

“You want a thrust too?” Grinning, Arsenal winks at Hols.

“No thanks, I’m fine!” Hols says. Arsenal doesn’t say anything about how Hols stares at his shoulders.

“I’m back!” Minty’s voice floats out of the dark. Hols leaps to their feet, dashing to open the screen door. The skags begin their dance for attention as Minty shuffles in, carrying six pizza boxes on her hip. “Go to sleep, you needy little shits.” She sounds affectionate towards the skags, who all slink off into their kennels when they sense no incoming pats.

Hols takes the pizza boxes off her. Minty keeps her coat on, stealing the remaining chair. She fans herself with her hat. “Phew, lots of people wanting pizza tonight. I literally duelled someone for these.”

“Did you pay for the pizzas?” Arsenal asks, putting down his hand.

“I told you, I  _ dueled _ someone for them.” Minty grins as she replaces her hat on her head. “They wouldn’t shut the fuck up on why a sheriff’s wandered so far from their town, so I showed them why ‘sheriffs’ don’t get out much.” She pats the holster on her hip, winking at Arsenal. “Stupid to bet pizzas as the prize.”

“Atta girl,” Arsenal says, giving her a fond look. He goes to rest his chin on his hands on the table. At the last second, the cards he’s holding foil him. He covers them, glancing suspiciously at Ravs and Daltos.

Ravs peeks through each of the pizza boxes that Hols sets down on the other end of the table. “Can we dig in?”

“Would you prefer eating six cold pizzas?” Minty drawls.

“You’re a lifesaver, Minty,” Ravs fondly says, selecting a random slice from the box he’s stickybeaking.

A long, thin, string of melted cheese the colour of pale yellow clings to the cardboard. Bits of crudely chopped, brown meat tumble off onto the rest of the pizza. Larger pink discs of slightly blackened meat crinkle, beginning their slow, sinking sojourn into the cheese ocean below. The crust is a cooked brown, pillowy and somehow greasier than the bits with the melted cheese on it. And the  _ smell _ fills Minty’s entire house.

“I  _ love _ pizza,” Arsenal declares, helping himself to the second pizza box. His pizza of choice is laden with peppers, less meat and green rinds that leave crunchy seeds sticking to his mouth after every bite.

Daltos takes a slice from Ravs’ box. Minty munches on one of Arsenal’s. Hols shifts on their chair, thumbs twiddling. They haven’t taken their gaze off the pizza boxes.

“Hollie, you can take the fucking mask and modulator off, we can see you dying under there.” Minty finally throws her hand down, tossing her hat onto the hat stand. “If you want to.” When Hols doesn’t move, Minty sighs. “I know CPR, but whether or not I can pull it off without breaking your ribs is questionable.”

Hollie reaches up, slipping off the goggles. The mask’s yanked off in one move. The modulator tumbles out of the mask, landing in a hand. All three items despawn. She gasps for air. “Good grief, I don’t know how any bandit can breathe wearing that getup!” Red hair sticks up in a eclectic blend of a mohawk and buzzcut.

“Slice?” Eyebrow raised, Minty offers her a box.

Hollie lunges for it, tearing the lid off and grabbing a slice, ripping a chunk off with bared teeth. “The smell was driving me nuts!” She says between frantic chews. A content sigh escapes her once she’s done. The bottle of moonshine’s drained. “I’m going to regret that, but I don’t give a fuck.”

“Who did your hair?” Ravs says, with an admiring look. “I’d love to learn from whoever taught you!”

“Self-taught, sadly. This one’s my current experiment.” Hollie sighs. “It’s not working out. I’ll just have to leg it to the Quick Change machine way out east to get my other do back. That one’s loads better.”

“Yeah, you currently look like a biker who fell asleep while shaving,” Minty absently says. 

“Minty!” Hollie admonishes, to Minty’s laughter.

“We got one at the frigate, but it’s liable to conk out randomly and make your hair grow twice as fast, if you wanna risk it,” Arsenal says, between mouthfuls of pizza.

“You ever used it?” Minty asks Arsenal.

“Oh, yeah! Loads of times. It’s how I’m so good-looking right now.” Arsenal puffs his chest out, flexing. “Did some adjustments to my face here, here and here.” A finger traces said contours. “I’m never looking back.”

Minty leans back in her chair, casually resting her legs across his lap. “You kept your freckles, though.”

“I used to hate them, but then I thought they looked pretty cute. Don’tcha think so?” He rapidly flutters his eyelashes at her.

“Cut that out, you look like you got something stuck in your eye.” Minty plants a boot on his crotch.

“Nice try, but you can’t bust my balls since I don’t have any,” Arsenal says, winking.

“True.” Minty shifts her boot so that it’s resting on his chest. She starts to push back. Arsenal gets a look of ‘oh shit’ on his face as his chair begins to rest on its back legs.

“Have mercy,” He pleads, holding onto her leg with a hand.

“Well, you  _ are _ pretty cute. Alright, you get to live.” Minty lowers her boot. “Daltos, Ravs, you two are really quiet.”

“Just discussing possible cuts.” Ravs fingers one of his curls. “I kind of want a change.” He looks at Daltos. “What do you think?”

“I’m happy with whatever just so long as I can still yank on it,” Daltos bluntly says, before taking another one of Ravs’ pizza slices. Ravs tries to feed him a piece, Daltos leaning away from him.

Hollie looks from Ravs, then to Daltos. “Um.”

“The flirting’s normal,” Minty patiently says, smirking. “Not flirting is not normal. Welcome to the crew, love. See? They all don’t bite.” Arsenal winks at her when she says that.

Hollie slowly grins. “Yeah.”

Arsenal wipes his hands on a napkin before picking up his cards. “So, we playing or what?”

\--

#####  **dead bandit’s chest**

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Arsenal: What do you think?

MintyMinute: ...It’s a dick.

Arsenal: Well, how do you feel about dicks?

MintyMinute: You’re holding a  _ dick _ . I ain’t sure what I’m supposed to feel. Probably find it hot.

Arsenal: This is my latest masterpiece. Just gotta tuck it in the packing box with some condoms, lube, write Daltos’ name on it, ship it off and walah, Daltos has another fight on his hands, and he’ll no have  _ no idea _ why.

MintyMinute: Oh, you are  _ diabolical _ .

Arsenal: I outdo myself sometimes, I really do.

MintyMinute: You do. I love that. Hang on, let me draw something.

Arsenal: Nice. It ain’t my fault bandits get pissed so easily over getting a dick in the mail.

Arsenal: Lemme write something too, assuming they can read or have someone who does.

MintyMinute: ‘Do you send a dildo to me, cunt?’.

Arsenal: You laughed, that’s good enough for me. Give me a lift to the courier drop off spot, will you?

MintyMinute: Sure.

– / / SKIPPING AHEAD TO SECOND PART OF LOG. / / –

Arsenal: Oi, Trell!

Trell: Ahoy! Sorry, I don’t have anything for you. Here’s some mail for your lot.

Arsenal: Sweet. Hey, got one package today. Just be careful, it’s kind of fragile.

Trell: You insult me, my good man, I am always careful!

Arsenal: I trust you. That package is my life.

Trell: It’ll be well taken care of.

MintyMinute: -is laughing too hard to be coherent-

Trell: Uh. Is Minty okay?

Arsenal: She’ll be dandy in a sec. Oh, and after you deliver that package, you might want to leg it out of there.

Trell: Is this an explosive?

Arsenal: No! I’d never give you anything like that to carry! 

Trell: Okay, but if it blows up in my face, I’m coming back and running you over with my Stingray.

Arsenal: I’ll even get you a ramp so you can do a sick trick off it too before it hits me.

MintyMinute: Safe travels, Trell.

Arsenal: Safe travels.

Trell: Thanks, you two. Good luck on your campaigns.

Arsenal: And now we wait for the call.

– / / SKIPPING AHEAD TO THIRD PART OF LOG. / / –

Daltos: Arsenal!

Arsenal: Yeeeeess, daddy?

Daltos: Do you know why somebody wants me dead?

Arsenal: I can think of a few pretty good reasons why.

Daltos: Better yet, why they want this gang dead?

Arsenal: Because they’re homophobic assholes who don’t have a real life?

Daltos: No, but does it include getting pissed over getting a dildo in the mail, along with a postcard of a realistically drawn dick?

Arsenal: Hm, good point.

Daltos: I don’t  _ recall _ sending anyone such shit.

Arsenal: Oh look at the time, I got to go see Ravs!

Daltos: Did  _ you _ send the package?

Arsenal: What if I did? You ain’t going to kill me, are you?

Daltos: Because I want you to send a similar package to every gang on the east coast. As far as I know, they’re all dicks.

Arsenal: It’ll take me a while to make that many. Dicks don’t come cheap, heh. I’ll need to do some shopping.

Daltos: You’re a little shit.

Arsenal: But I’m your little shit, daddy.

Daltos: Seriously, when are you going to stop calling me that?

Arsenal: When I stop finding it funny.

– / / END OF ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

#####  **rules of enragement**

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Hollie: Hey, Minty?

MintyMinute: What’s shaking?

Hollie: A couple of locals want to see you. Something about a wedding?

MintyMinute: Bring them in.

Hollie: Pretty brave of them to come out all this way.

MintyMinute: What can I do for you? I don’t get visitors often.

Jasper: We got word that a Bandit Lord could do something about making ‘it’ official?

MintyMinute: What’s this ‘it’ you’re on about?

Lysander: Excuse my partner’s wording. He means a wedding.

MintyMinute: There’s sheriffs who can do that for you.

Lysander: Yeah, see...problem is, there’s no sheriffs near us.

Jasper: You’re the closest we got to one.

MintyMinute: I ain’t no sheriff.

Jasper: But you oversee the area! You keep other vermin from sneaking in and wrecking our shit!

MintyMinute: You want a real wedding, you go find yourselves a real sheriff.

Lysander: Am I to understand that a bandit law’s not as good as a sheriff’s law?

MintyMinute: Now just hold on a darn minute, I didn’t say that.

Jasper: So, you changed your mind?

MintyMinute: You don’t want a ‘real’ wedding?

Lysander: A wedding’s a wedding, regardless of who’s officiating it.

MintyMinute: What’s in it for me?

Lysander: We give you our territory. It’s not much, but we’re moving anyway, all the way over to a little plot near ‘Oasis’. Just bought the deed last week.

MintyMinute: Where’re you boys located?

Jasper: Just over yonder, past those hills. The town’s got good folk. They don’t want any trouble.

MintyMinute: What made you come up here to ask me?

Jasper: You ever thought of changing career?

Lysander: He means if you ever decide to make it as a sheriff, you’re going to do some actual honest to Sirens good out there.

MintyMinute: Hm, I’ll think about it. But when’s your wedding?

Jasper: Here’s the invite. Show up early, you hear? And wear that hat and coat of yours.

MintyMinute: I’ll see what I can do, but I don’t promise anything.

Lysander: Of course. You’re a busy person, keeping the peace and all that. Thanks for your time.

Hollie: Are you gonna go?

MintyMinute: It’s a  _ wedding _ . There’ll be cake, booze, dancing and shit! Of course I’m going! You’re coming too. We’ll just have Ravs babysit our place and the skags.

– / / END OF ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

“Urgh, I’m sick of this.” Minty throws a wedding invitation into Arsenal’s face. “If I have to go to another wedding and try to act nice, I’m going to barf on the cake.”

He gingerly peels the invitation from his face. “This wouldn’t be the ‘Pedals Furiously’ gang’s wedding up north, would it?”

Minty snorts. “Beats me. It’s the biggest bandit wedding yet, according to Hollie’s gossip.”

“Her gossip’s pretty good intel.” Arsenal’s grin turns sly. “Can I go in your place?”

“I don’t see why not. It’ll save me a trip and a half.” Minty stubs the end of her cigarette against an ash tray. “You can take two guests with you.”

Arsenal turns to watch Daltos talking to Ravs via ECHO. Arado’s standing by, waiting to get the former’s attention by appearing about as interesting as an unemotional plank of wood.

Nodding to himself, Arsenal grins. “I think got a pretty good idea of who can go with me.”

\--

“I don’t see why I had to tag along,” Arado grouses from the turret. “I could have stayed home to catch up on ‘Five Times They Almost Kissed’ or whatever fucking show Bucker’s binge-watching.”

The technical drifts along the road. Arsenal’s chilling in the back, what with his other choice of guest (aka, Ravs) declining to defend his borders. “Since when did you start watching that?”

“Ever since Siebel knocked over our ECHOnet antennae. It’s unbelievable,  _ nobody _ ’s got ‘Knives in the Back’ on their set.” Arado’s disgruntled look in Arsenal’s direction dares the latter to laugh. “I must be the only person who watches it on the east coast.”

“I ain’t judging anybody’s taste in shows!” Arsenal holds up both hands, looking innocent. “Y’all can watch what you like!”

“You sure?” Arado seems oddly defensive still. “‘cause the last dick who made fun of me got to play faceball with Cant’s lot. And faceball is  _ intense _ .”

“I’m just making conversation!” Arsenal says. “It’s not often we get to chat so casually.” He leans back, appearing as content as one of Minty’s skags finding a suitable dirt patch to roll around in.

“You trying to be friendly?” Arado spins the turret to face him.

“Is it working?” Arsenal cheerfully asks.

“Maybe.” The turret rotates elsewhere. “You ain’t this friendly with the other lieutenants.”

“That’s a load of skagshit!” There’s scuffling sounds as Arsenal sits up, clearly mock-outraged. “I’m great mates with Bucker, Hawker, Hurricane, Sibel, Cant, Gotha, Pissfire–”

“Dornier, right? The one who insists everyone has to call them ‘Spitfire’, like one of them traveling firebreathers?”

“Yeah, him!”

“Them’s a real turd!”

“I forget who else I was gonna list, but hey, I’m a great guy! And you should totally be friends with me too.” Arsenal shrugs. “I’m a people person.”

“What’s the alternative to friendship?” Arado sounds contemplative.

Arsenal grins. “I make your life a living hell. Ask daddy, he’d know.”

“You’re still calling Daltos  _ ‘daddy’ _ and ain’t pissing blood, that’s fucking unbelievable.” Arado’s laugh is a like a creaturing slithering under a log, all dry and no humour.

“Don’t make me turn this technical around because you two can’t shut the fuck up,” Daltos finally says. “Arsenal, if you call me ‘daddy’ again, I’ll make you walk.”

“K,” Arsenal says. “Dad, are we there yet?

“ _ Arsenal _ .”

“‘Dad’ wasn’t banned!”

“I’m okay with ‘dad’, actually.” Daltos flicks the cigarette in his mouth out of the permanently open window to his left. “We’re here.”

The technical’s parked at the end of a long line of bandit vehicles. Over to the left is the Monster vehicle for the intendeds. As per the invitation, the wedding’s taking place at an old saloon straddling several neutral bandit borders. Signs stacked on top of a fence post mark the routes to the highway and said territories.

Daltos strides up to the saloon doors, sensing a familiarity. As Arado and Arsenal follow, Daltos abruptly turns, heading around the side. He returns a moment later, shaking his head.

“Something bugging you?” Arado grunts.

“Nothing at all.” Daltos walks in, shoving the swinging wooden doors open.

Arsenal peers around the side of the building. There’s a dumpster there. Nothing else proves of interest. He shrugs when Arado gives him a look.

“Dunno,” Arsenal mouths, just before he heads into the saloon.

Daltos is waiting by a guest book. He scribbles ‘congrats’, dropping the pen. Arsenal picks it up, writing ‘and don’t forget the lube’ underneath it. Arado snorts, making sure their helmet is in place.

“Invite?” The Goliath standing post by the book grunts.

“Gifted by Minty–” Arsenal says, presenting the invite. The silence falling over the saloon could have smothered the night.

“Minty  _ sent _ you on her behalf?”

“She ain’t even showing up in person! What a-”

“She sends her best regards,” Arsenal announces. “And dearly  _ hopes _ that you won’t mind her absence.” A shrug. “If not, y’all can tell me and I’ll tell her–”

“No!” The entire saloon choruses. “We’re fine, come on in, stuff your face, drink ‘til you’re barfing or both!”

“She’ll be glad to hear that y’all are very hospitable, unlike the last lot.” Arsenal gives a grateful wave of his hand. “Carry on!”

The entire saloon breathes out. With glacial pace, the wedding’s atmosphere reforms.

Daltos, Arsenal and Arado are led towards the bar. Three bandits offer their stools, one scrambling to vacate it to the point of tipping it over. Leaning down, Arsenal corrects it before sitting down, as with his two companions. 

The bartender’s not Ravs, so Arsenal does a double-take when he doesn’t see a flirtatious grin. The grin shot his way is however, full of crook wariness and promised an instant face full of buckshot if he starts trouble.

“Get me a curse ‘o’ the red,” Arsenal orders.

“Isn’t that too strong for you?” Arado observes. “Gimme a sham on the rocks.”

“I can definitely hold my booze, don’t you worry,” Arsenal responds.

Daltos lights up a cigarette, much to the disapproval of the bandits around him. Ignoring the dirty looks (and one approving), he glances at the bartender. “Make mine a blue moon, no ice.”

“You think you’re hot shit, the three of you?” The bartender cracks an enormous grin like splitting rock pitted with black and yellow crevices. “You asked for it.”

Three drinks appear on the counter. Arsenal doesn’t remember much about this part; he definitely does end up asking for another two drinks, then buying Arado and Daltos a few to square whatever debts he owes. A well-aimed punch to the face would do too, of course. 

The rules on fighting during weddings tended to be murky. The drinking could start or stopper fights as well as a Bandit Lord announcing an execution, or Minty and Ravs declaring that it’s time for a drinking contest.

Said contests between Minty and Ravs ended in draws, likely because nobody else is conscious to witness the winner. Even innocuously asking the pair provoked dangerous grins.

Arsenal and Daltos’ own tolerance, on the other hand, fell vastly short. Arado’s tolerance neatly sat between the four’s. They couldn’t outdrink Arsenal and Daltos by strides, but right now, they’re trying to stay sober. After all, one of them’s gotta remember how to explain why they got ejected from the wedding.

Arado watches Arsenal turn to Daltos. “Is it time to go to church yet?”

“Might be.” Daltos puts down his glass, nearly missing the bar’s counter. It joins about two others.

“They’re calling everyone to the church,” Arado points out. Bandits are filing out of the bar to walk in squabbling, cheering, whistling and drunk groups.

The drinking’s going to be worse after the wedding once the party’s really underway. Daltos ignores the arm Arsenal offers him, leading the way. He’s not as drunk as his two lieutenants suspect, employing his elbows when bandits don’t get out of his way in time. The ones he shoves aside don’t hit back, perhaps recognising him, even in a drunken haze.

He might not get as much recognition as Ravs or Minty, but the Blitzkrieg Blighters are rising fast as a name and force to be reckoned with. The strewn wreckages and lines of graves serving as markers along overlapping borders told any passing convoy all they needed to know. 

Recognition’s what the gang needed, to truly expand. Arsenal’s got a couple of other ideas kicking around. Whether or not they could pay off in the way that he hopes is another matter, not unless he could come up with something else.

“You the bugger in charge of them Blighters?” A bandit next to Arado asks. Arado shakes their head, pointing to Daltos. The bandit squints where they’re pointing.

“This Daltos guy don’t look like much,” The plastered bandit concludes within Daltos’ hearing.

Arsenal still has enough coordination left in him to swerve around Daltos. He’d heard it too. The first instinct is to punch the bandit for disrespect, resulting in a brawl and providing free entertainment.

Daltos turns to face the bandit leering at him. “Well, at least you’ve heard of me.” He doesn’t sound as offended as Arsenal and Arado thought he’d be. Daltos smirks, the smirk sudden and with all the look of someone planning something particularly nasty. 

Arsenal recalls that a drunk Daltos is not someone to cross. He leans over to the bandit, stage-whispering, “Say ‘sorry’ or you’re gonna regret looking down on him.”

“Oh, I’m looking down on him, alright!” The bandit chuckles, like he expects laughter.

Daltos breaks all their fingers, leaving them whimpering on the ground. He strides off into the church–only to pause at the wooden door blocking the way, squinting at it. Arado reaches around, tugging it open.

“Oh.” Daltos shakes his head. 

Arsenal shrugs, suppressing a giggle. Daltos must be really drunk to be foiled by a door. Sometimes, Arsenal’s found him sleeping on the floor outside his bedroom because he’s forgotten how to get back in after a hard night of drinking. Arsenal usually hauls him downstairs to sleep it off in his room instead so that people can’t off his buddy.

Daltos, Arado and Arsenal find their seats at the end of one of the log benches stolen from some dead park that’ve gone extinct on Pandora. Altas (or Dahl) tried to plant greenery during their occupation. 

Whatever greenery managing to thrive killed more bandits than hit and runs, randy rakk hives or flash floods in the mystical Pandoran thunderstorm. Bandits guarded their farming plots as zealously as a favourite gun or borders.

At the front of the church, the two Bandit Lord grooms face each other. Welded chains serves as the archway the pair are standing under. Bandits scraped together whatever flashy wear and armour they could for the occasion. Arsenal idly yawns, watching Daltos watch the ceremony. The thoughtful attentiveness on his face is worth remembering.

Arado looks as bored as Arsenal feels, arms crossed over their chest. Fingers dig into their arms. It tells Arsenal that they’re not as stoic as they’re pretending to be. With that helmet on, Arado could have been napping.

The grooms make their vows to each other. Their lieutenants make short, acknowledging speeches. One burly, blushing lieutenant reads their speech out, stuttering and fumbling through with all the concentration of wiring a grenade mod without it exploding. Not one bandit jeers or mocks. 

When the lieutenant concludes with ‘so I guess we can’t make any jokes about elopment anymore’, the entire church explodes with applause, stamping, mad whistling and cheering.

The three join in, because one, they’re drunk, two, they don’t want to be singled out for lynching and three, why the fuck not?

Bandit weddings may be cheap, took more elaborate planning than people assumed (because between the murdering, looting, shooting, executions and fighting one another, gangs are busy), boasted more alcohol than Dionysus’ famed wineries, but they had  _ spirit _ .

No bandit wedding would be complete without an afterparty to be talked about for days (usually via hangovers or wild rumours). To nobody’s surprise, everybody trooped back to the bar for a second (or tenth) round of drinks on the house.

The fiddle band’s striking up a tune. Folk dancing isn't really Arsenal’s thing, but he and Arado have been tapped in by a trio. Daltos hangs around the fringe, avoiding the other Bandit Lords. When Arsenal’s sick of busting kneecaps and giving the other bandits something to think about the next time they try to lead him when dancing, he finds Daltos.

Daltos is being chatted up by another Bandit Lord. Judging from the other’s interested posture (and it’s not often Goliaths show up, but when they did, bandits hastily moved out of their way), the Lord wants to get acquainted. Daltos indicates that he’s taken, waving an idle hand.

“By who?” The Lord signs, with a prosthetic hand fitted with brass knuckles.

“Ravs,” Daltos mouths (and Arsenal’s lip-reading from afar).

The Lord straightens up, rumbling an excuse to leave. Daltos lets them, chuckling softly when Arsenal finds him.

“Who was that prick?” He slurs.

“Dunno, didn’t get their name,” Daltos responds. He’s not as upset about the attempt to get his ECHO code as he should be. What Arsenal’s surprised by is that he hadn’t seen fit to rip the other’s eyeballs right out of their sockets to leave them dangling. The thought pleases him.

Arado shows up eventually, settling by Daltos’ other side. The party’s still in full swing. 

“Had enough?” Daltos consults his two lieutenants.

“I’m bored,” Arado states. “All the good booze’s gone. There’s just ale and dregs left.” Arsenal just grunts in agreement.

“Time to go home.” Daltos turns towards the exit. 

Nearly all of the bar’s occupants have cleared off outside, where another band’s playing while the fiddlers get smashed as their price for showing up. It’s as headache inducing, what with all the noise and the throng of people gathered in the clearing to soak up the partying vibe.

“Hold on, I haven’t given the grooms my wedding gift yet.” Arsenal leaves Daltos’ side, boots dragging as he lurches into motion. He regains his stride a few seconds later, ambling across to the clearing where the two grooms are waltzing.

“Hey, we ain’t got no gifts!” Arado points out, grabbing Daltos’ arm.

“Arsenal!” The music’s switched to a slow number, letting the two grooms turn across the dancefloor. It’s very sweet and all, until Arsenal steps past the ring of rocks forming the border. 

One of the bandits releases his partner. The two acknowledge Arsenal’s state, and the purpose in his stride. “Whaddya want?” The one in the waistcoat and spiked knuckles booms.

Their taller, gold-toothed partner eyes up Arsenal. “I don’t remember inviting the Blighters to this.”

“Minty,” Arsenal supplies. He grins. Daltos and Arado shove their way to the edge of the crowd forming. Daltos has a horrible feeling. Arsenal’s grin is full of intent in the flickering light of the torches being set up around the dancefloor.

“I got something for you,” He declares. “It’s a wedding gift.”

The two newly wedded Bandit Lords glance at each other, eyes lighting up with greed. The taller one gingerly steps forward. “What is it?”

Arsenal steps forward. “You gotta come closer. It’s not exactly for prying eyes.”

The remaining Bandit Lorder gestures for everyone to close their eyes. On the threat of losing their eyes (remaining or not), nearly all the bandits make a show of covering their vision; save for Daltos and Arado, who are hiding behind two Bruisers and don’t trust what Arsenal’s up to.

Arsenal nods, his grin widening. He kisses the groom on the mouth, stepping back. His grin never wavers. “Not bad. You could go for a little more tongue,” is his comment.

“You’re gonna  _ pay _ for that!” The watching Bandit Lord shoves their stunned husband aside to swing at Arsenal. Even drunk, Arsenal twists out of their reach, sprinting towards Daltos and Arado. “Get the Blighters! They stole a kiss from my sweetheart!” The Lord howls as their partner whips out a gun.

Protected by the crowd beginning to wonder what’s wrong, Arsenal, Daltos and Arado frantically shove their way through. The second Daltos bursts out of it, gunfire erupts on his heels, kicking up dust.

The three sprint at their technical as bandits surge towards them. Arsenal and Arado lob grenades; a few of them form electrical mines. The others explode, shaking the gate and wrecking a couple of fence posts.

Daltos reverses the technical and tears down the route towards the highway. There’s no sign of their pursuers; everybody’s too drunk or sees no point in going after them. Arado scans the imminent darkness for any headlights marking a chase. 

Half an hour of no activity eases the tension that’d accompanied their escape. The technical roars along the road. A pitstop is ignored.

“At ease,” Daltos mutters. It’s the first time he’s spoken since leaping into the getaway vehicle.

Arado clambers down to sit next to Arsenal. Arsenal bats his hands away. “Didn’t get hit,” He idly says.

They tug off their helmet, scratching their stubbled chin. A scar twists underneath their fingernails. They grimace at him. Arsenal lazily yawns, ignoring the inquisitive look he’s getting. Still, Arado remains quiet. Perhaps they expect that he’ll spill the beans on why he chose to kiss the groom.

“I hope you’re fucking proud of yourself,” Daltos says from the front. The restrained rage in his voice makes Arado awkwardly shift away from Arsenal.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Arsenal briskly informs him.

“You just went ahead and put us on thirty shit lists.” Daltos’ voice remains steely.

“Mh-hm, I did,” Arsenal acknowledges.

“What the fuck possessed you to do that?”

“Easiest way to piss off every bandit on the east coast. Word’ll get around,” Arsenal admits.

“We’re not in a position for war,” Daltos says, after a few seconds of frosty silence.

“It’ll take a while for them to coordinate an attack. By then, we’ll be ready to roll,” Arado speaks up. “Have been, for the past month.”

“I just went ahead and saved you the effort of contacting whoever wants a throwdown,” Arsenal says, peering at Arado. He’s only known Arado for a few months. Aside from Arado’s paranoia about going outside the frigate during any sort of battle, Arado’s shaping up to be a fine lieutenant.

“Yeah, I figured that out a few minutes ago.” Daltos says. He’s not as angry anymore, merely resigned.

“Oh, so you’re not just a pretty face,” Arsenal brightly says.

Daltos swerves the technical so Arado slams into Arsenal. “Ow!” The two complain.

\--

#####  **nudes island**

– / / Ravs is typing. / / –

Ravs: sapnu puas

Daltos: what

Ravs: sapnu puas

Daltos: ravs, are you having a stroke

Ravs: turn your echo device upside down

Daltos: okay

– / / Daltos attached an image. / / –

Ravs: that’s your middle finger!

Daltos: i never said i would actually send you one

Ravs: i can work with that ;)

Daltos: stop bothering me, i need to get to the war room

Ravs: see you tonight!

Daltos: it’s my turn to cook btw

Ravs: in that case, let me bring some bread  _ and _ the gun show to your doorstep

Daltos: go for it

Arsenal pretends not to be looking over Daltos’ shoulder when a sighing Daltos puts away his ECHO device after tapping back a response. If Daltos knows he’s stickybeaking like a Rat dumpster diving for rotten goodies, he doesn’t react to it. Instead, he keeps walking–only to hear Arsenal duck into a room. 

The room’s a storage closet for cleaning equipment. Daltos spends the time waiting, rereading the conversation between him and Ravs, picking over the exchanged words with a greater amount of care than usual, trying to figure out what Ravs sees in him that’s worth it.

Arsenal emerges a minute later, from the room. The ECHO device is put away. Arsenal’s fixing his belt and jacket. He nods at Daltos, indicating that the two should continue heading upwards in the frigate.

“What were you doing in there?”

“Nothing that’s as dirty as what you’re thinking of! Just sending some good shit to Minty,” Arsenal answers, letting a dreamy look pass over his face. “I never hold out on her when she wants the goods. She don’t hold out on me either.”

Daltos sighs. “Ravs always asks me if it’s okay first, even if it’s doing stuff like going out or cooking.” He makes a random gesture halfway between a dismissal and a wave. “He doesn’t have to ask me about every little thing.”

“I didn’t realise he’s such a considerate romantic.” Not that it surprises Arsenal in any way; for Ravs to be anything other than a romantic at heart simply doesn’t work with the impression he has of him.

“He is,” Daltos simply says.

“You ain’t jealous of what Minty and I have, are you?”

“Fuck no. You two can be as sappy as you want, but that stuff isn’t for me.”

“Don’t compare your relationship to mine; what you got with Ravs is different to what I got with Minty.”

“I’m not comparing.” Daltos stops. “I just need to know if I’m doing something wrong.”

“Doing what wrong?”

“Seeing Ravs.”

It clicks in Arsenal’s mind. “Forget about him.” Arsenal sighs. “You need to move on–” 

“Today would have been our anniversary.”

“I’m so sorry.” That’d explain Daltos’ persistent, quiet mood for the past week. ”I’ll help you cook the greatest kebabs for Ravs later. How’s that?”

“That’d be good.”

“No problem.”

\--

#####  **five bandits and a hooker**

“Hey.” Minty nudges one of the boots underneath the technical. She plants her own on the wheeled board that mechanics use to get underneath there, forcing it to slide to the left. Arsenal rolls out, his arms resting underneath his head, napping on the job. He doesn’t stir. “Hollie, wake him up,” She instructs.

Hollie nods. Her helmet’s identical to that of Arado’s, smaller, but provides just as much concealment. She digistructs a megaphone, pointing it right at Arsenal. “Your favourite dominatrix overlord’s here!” 

Bandits jump, swear or knock over items when the announcement booms across the cargo bay. Arsenal jerks like he’s been zapped, already on his feet and a gun in his hand, eyes darting left and right. “Don’t do that,” He weakly says. Hollie despawns the megaphone.

Minty slowclaps. “Welcome back to the land of the living,” She drawls. “Did you have a lovely dream?”

“No,” He laments. “You weren’t there, that’s why.”

“Oh, you.” Minty chucks him underneath the chin. “Now where can I find your esteemed leader?”

“With Ravs, of course.” Arsenal grins. The grin disappears. “What’s wrong?”

“You two might as well sit in on this.” Minty sweeps into the kitchen where Ravs and Daltos are, drinking coffee.

“Minty,” Ravs cordially greets. Daltos nods at her.

“We got a minor problem. Somebody’s built a thing on our borders.”

“Our borders don’t overlap.” Daltos frowns. “Not much, at any rate.”

“I think you’ll want to see this.” Minty snaps her fingers. Hollie digistructs an advertisement, holding it up. “Just got the preprinting of the local news.”

“You read the local news?” Ravs squints at it. 

“It’s entertaining,” Minty defensively says. “And the horoscopes are good.”

“What’s that say?”

“You can’t read?”

“Not very well. And before you make me, I’ve been meaning to fix that at some point.” Ravs shrugs. “Just been too busy. Besides, I got you four to do it for me. And speech to text on my ECHO.”

“A brothel’s opening.” Daltos puts down his coffee.

“Whoever it is, they picked the wrong place to build it.” Minty snatches up the advertisement, crumpling it in one fist. Hollie takes the advertisement back. “And y’all gonna help me deal with it.”

“Sure,” Ravs agrees, looking at Arsenal.

“I’m already in,” Arsenal immediately says.

Daltos gives her a sharp look. “Why do you care?”

“It’s on  _ my _ land so I ain’t having it. It’s on yours too.”

“I  _ know _ it’s on my land, I just don’t see the point in all of us checking it out.”

“That just shows how much you care.”

“I do care, it’s just a waste of time if I go off with you. Besides, you have Arsenal and Ravs.”

Ravs leans forward, a smile playing out over his face. “This can be our date.”

“You’re inviting me to go look at a brothel with you as a date?” Daltos flatly asks.

“Yes,” Ravs says. “It’ll be fun. We haven’t been on many dates.”

Daltos finally looks convinced. “Fine, let me ECHO Scarface and tell them I’m heading off.”

\--

Hollie drives, with Minty riding shotgun and Arsenal positioned in the back to provide cover. Daltos and Ravs take the other technical. The drive itself takes about twenty minutes, borrowing a shortcut through Ravs’ highlands.

The brothel’s based next to a fuel station. The five climb out. It’s run out of a motel building. The motel’s not that impressive, hardly anything marking it as different. Well, the five know it’s a brothel but if it’s trying to be a disguised motel, it’s working.

“Doesn’t look like much. How long’s it been here for?” Arsenal whistles.

“About two weeks.” Minty sets her jaw. “I missed the grand opening, it appears.”

“Why didn’t my lieutenants told me about it sooner?” Ravs wonders. His voice is missing its usual playful quality, a striking, obvious change. “Unless they didn’t know about it either.”

“Likewise.” Daltos checks that his shield’s charged and he’s got his digistruct modules on his belt. “But why build it on our borders?”

“How about I’ll go and ask?” Minty promptly says, practically storming in through the door. There’s a series of noises, plus raised voices. A door’s slammed. Eventually, Minty’s shoving a person outside, her pistol pointed at their head serving as all the imperative they need to move.

“Why, if it isn’t a Bandit Lord, or should I say, the Lords, ruling this area?” The person’s face rearranges into an oily smile. “Don’t you have another matter to discuss?”

“Like what?” Daltos’ hand twitches, like he wants to deliver a punch to that pretentious expression. He withdraws a cigarette to light it up, puffing on it. Smoke billows up, threading into the background.

“I don’t remember anybody asking for permission build a brothel on my land,” Ravs muses. “If they did ask, I’m pretty sure I told them ‘no’.”

“I’m surprised you remember yesterday considering how much booze you drink,” Daltos mutters.

“Hey, I don’t drink that much,” Ravs says, pretending to sound wounded.

“Let’s stay on topic, we can discuss Ravs’ alcoholism later,” Arsenal cuts in. A step or two takes him over to the ‘landlord’. “Minty, you ever get a visit from ‘em?”

“Hollie, my guestbook,” Minty summons. Hollie rushes over, flipping through the pages of a book.

“Minty’s guestbook says ‘no’,” Hollie reports. The black book (with looping, gilded gold text stamped across the front) snaps shut. Arsenal has a vague feeling that Minty nicked it from one of the weddings she visited, or it got given to her in exchange for overseeing the ceremony.

“See, now, I’d definitely remember a face like yours,” Minty ponders. “So myself and my other Lords are thinking that maybe, you thought you’d be smart, try to start a little territory spat if you thought you’d try to be incognito about this by setting up shop where our borders cross.” 

For every word, she takes a step, the pistol in her hand spinning, catching the light of the sun like the hide of a thresher cutting through water after a fish.

Ravs casually inspects a leather gloved hand, fanning it out so that the landlord can see all the scars and muscles being displayed. “Might have worked for any other gangs, but see,” Ravs smiles, a touch deviously, “I got a special arrangement with these two.”

“What if we could come to our own ‘special’ arrangement?” The proprietor squirms at how unmoved the bandits watching them are. “Half-price, I’ll even send up a couple of them over, anytime, anywhere–”

“We don’t do that kind of thing on Pandora, you see,” Ravs states, keeping his tone dreadfully light. “More specifically,  _ bandits _ don’t.”

“But you’re bandits–”

“No bandit will ever visit a brothel,” Arsenal recites.

“Why not?”

“Don’t need to,” Ravs says, with a shrug. “It’s simple: we’re too busy boning each other.”

En masse clan meetings made it explicit that if a bandit had a certain itch to scratch, they could solicit another bandit’s help (or bandits, depending on how one’s preferences operated). 

Bandits understood far more readily than regular folks  that sometimes, the body had needs. The fastest way to deal’s to tap a fellow bandit on the shoulder, arrange for a place, time and date, and turn up (or look like a massive douche). The kind of deal where you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours, so stop dawdling, take off your fucking clothes already and get in the goddamned bed.

The proprietor winces. “Money, then.” In other word, a bribe to stay silent.

To everyone’s surprise, Daltos steps forward, talking around the cigarette in his mouth. “How much?”

Minty’s eyes narrow. Ravs lays a patient hand on her arm. Her glare snaps to him. He gives her look telling her to wait. Arsenal yawns under the midday sun. Hollie closes the guestbook, tucking it under her arm, her face neutral.

A hopeful glint shines in the proprietor’s eyes. “You’ll let me operate out here if I pay you?”

“Didn’t say that,” Daltos evenly says. He looms over them, voice dropping to a harsh command, “I asked you,  _ ‘how much _ ?’”

“Better answer him,” Arsenal helpfully adds.

A meaty hand spawns about a thousand dollars, from what the others can see. Daltos snatches up the lot of bills in one hand, inspecting them critically under the sunlight. He removes the cigarette in his mouth. In a flash, the lit, ash-ridden end’s stuck underneath a rumpled green edge.

The bills burn. The proprietor shrieks, trying to snatch the bills back. Smirking, Daltos lobs the entire lot into the air. A few go the way of the wind, flapping over the highway and off to new places. Some fall onto the ground, flames crinkling and twisting them into blackened, useless bits. The rest float through the air.

“Make it raaiiiiiinnnnn!” Arsenal sings, clapping a short beat while laughing.

Ravs digistructs a bottle of rakk ale. He chugs half of it, holding out a hand to Arsenal. Arsenal slaps down an incendiary grenade mod he’d been picking apart. It’s held up to Ravs’ mouth. 

Taking a deep breath, Ravs breathes fire. It engulfs the remaining bills, clouding briefly and growing as it absorbs the fuel. Ten seconds later, it ceases to exist, a shower of black particles raining down. Arsenal tenderly brushes away a few that cling to Minty’s hair (and she lets him).

“Urgh, I don’t know how Cant or Heinkel can keep that up,”  Ravs complains, making a face. Still, he tosses the grenade mod back to Arsenal, who pockets it. The rest of the alcohol’s consumed. “Something tells me that I need to be drunk for the rest of the day.”

Whimpering, the proprietor’s on their knees in the sand scratched dirt, scrabbling after the precious bills that have managed to survive the fiery purge.

“Is it clear yet that you can’t bribe us?” Hollie pipes up, the innocent inquiry earning a filthy look. 

Minty sees the curse form in the ‘o’ of a mouth. She promptly applies a swift kick to the underside of the proprietor’s chin. A startled gasp of pain as the proprietor lands on their rear end makes Arsenal, Ravs, Hollie and Daltos snicker.

“That’s me being real gentle,” Minty warns. “We’re sticklers for proper language around these parts, aren’t we?” An inquiring glance receives agreeing nods. “So, how many people are in there, and how did you get them here?” A spurred boot steps on the hand clenched around a flap of green. “I’m not gonna ask twice, like Daltos did.”

“Bitc–” All Minty has to do is kick her boot up, jabbing the boot spur straight down, right into the meat forming the back of the hand. 

A grinding motion carves out an array of marks, cutting into the sweaty flesh, adding to the explosion of pain. The shrill scream causes a few curtains over in the brother to be pulled shut, while a couple part.

Arsenal knows that Minty keeps her spurs sharp, loving the accompanying click of metal with every one of her strides. 

“Language,” Minty reminds, in a bored tone of voice. “I ain’t as generous with second chances.” Blood clings to the spur when she wrenches it upwards. A pained moan is ignored as the bandits turn to confront the next problem: what to do about the brothel and its owner.

Minty handcuffs the guy to a fencepost. She despawns the key. Daltos and Ravs raise their eyebrows, glancing at Arsenal. He coughs, pretending to avoid their glances.

“Let’s see how he got those people out here without us knowing.” She takes the lead, heading towards the brothel. She enters; the receptionist’s a little green in the face, clutching a list of prospective–it’s torn from their hands by Hollie.

Hollie scrutinises it, her frown making her appear as if she’s sucking on a hard sour candy. “There’s about fifteen people here.” She starts talking to the receptionist. “Hey, uh, can I see all your paperwork?”

Minty stomps off upstairs with Arsenal to see if there’s any other incriminating evidence.

Ravs is poking through one of the rooms past the curtained doorway. “Hello? Anybody–oof!” 

Someone flings a pillow into his face. The person in the room rockets past him, cannonballing into Daltos. Daltos grunts, automatically grabbing them by the upper arms.

They headbutt him–or try to. Daltos’ hand automatically catches their forehead. A bite’s foiled by shoving them backwards. He lets go of them.

“We’re just want to ask some questions.” Ravs tugs the pillow off his face, dropping it onto the floor.

“You’re not here to arrest us?” pants the hooker, glancing at the two.

“No? Why would we do that?”

“The person stomping around upstairs looked an awful lot like a sheriff.” The hooker frowns, sniffing. “Sheriffs don’t like brothels. It makes the place look ‘seedy’, according to the last prick who passed by.”

“Didn’t realise we had an audience,” Ravs says, giving a friendly grin. “So, how’d you wind up in the middle of nowhere? The only people around are bandits, and we don’t tend to pay very well for services, or not at all.”

“Depends on who you ask,” The hooker primly says. “I needed money, a couple of people are in it for the thrills, somebody’s got kids to feed, gambling debt, you name it, one of us is almost certainly here because of it.”

“They didn’t make you do this?”

“Ha, no! We’d shoot them if they ever tried!” The hooker laughs. “We all got guns under our beds and trust me, we all know how to use them.”

“Then why’d you wind up on our borders?”

“Land was cheap. Nobody wants to live in bandit country.” The hooker shrugs.

“Can you please give me the real estate agent’s number? I might have a couple of words with them about trying to sell land that’s not theirs…Daltos, go tell the others to head outside.”

Daltos knocks on a door. It’s tugged back a fraction. It slams upon seeing him. Daltos gives Ravs a dry look. The door opens again. 

The hooker inside that room raises their eyebrows. “On second thought,  _ you _ can come right on in.” Daltos reaches for the doorknob to yank the door shut.

Half an hour later, fifteen hookers, one significantly calmer receptionist, one wounded proprietor and five bandits are standing outside in the sun.

“Who wants the honor of throwing the first cocktail?” Hollie yells. Hookers snatch up the cocktails from the crate she provides.

It’s hard to tell who throws the first cocktail. It splashes against the side of the motel. Soon, there’s a large blaze going. The hookers cheer. The proprietor weeps. The bandits high-five and watch from the technicals.

“That’s what you get for setting up an illegal brothel in bandit country,” Arsenal observes, clinking his glass bottle against Ravs’ one in a toast of sorts.

“So, do you bandits share or what?” A hooker inquires, of Minty.

“Share what?” Minty raises an eyebrow, taking her cigarette out of her mouth to talk. It’s crushed under her boot.

They wordlessly point in the direction of Ravs, Arsenal, Hollie and Daltos. “Just asking. For the others.”

“Ha, no!” Minty cracks up. “I just make suggestions and if they feel like it, they listen.” Her expression softens. “Most of the time, they do.”

“So, er, now what?” Another hooker asks, sitting on top of their suitcase. “The bus doesn’t come until later this week.”

The proprietor edges away from Minty when she coolly glance at them, daring them to comment for the ill timing.

“I can send over a bus from my stronghold,” Minty says. “We can give you lot a lift to where you need to go.” Hollie frantically gestures to her. Minty leans down, nodding as Hollie whispers into an ear. “Oh, I quite  _ like _ that idea.” Grinning, Minty casts a glance over the people watching her. “Who wants to be a bandit?”

“Bandits recruit?” A hooker at the back frowns. “We thought you made people join.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Daltos mutters. Arsenal shushes him, listening with rapt attention to Minty. Ravs and Hollie are sharing drinks.

“We sure do. This ain’t any different from somebody knocking on my door, wondering if they can join,” Minty says. “We take care of our own.”

A hand’s thrust up into the air. “Can we tie ‘em to the roof of the bus?”

“Sure,” Minty easily agrees. 

The proprietor splutters. “After all I’ve done for you!”

“We wouldn’t be in this position if you simply got a real brothel license!”

“Those are expensive!”

Concluding that her job’s done, Minty strolls past Daltos, pinching the cigarette from his hand. Daltos examines his now empty hand, turning to watch her. Tipping her hat at him, she laughs, taking a deep drag and blowing him a smoky kiss. 

Arsenal throws an arm around her shoulders, leaning against her. Ravs shoots Daltos a ‘not so sorry’ look for the stolen cigarette.

\--

#####  **the eyes of my daltos**

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

MintyMinute: Now I got something spicy that might help us out real nice, right here, in this bag.

Arsenal: Fuck yeah, what is it?

MintyMinute: It’s a surprise, motherfucker. Just lie back and close your eyes.

Arsenal: This is gonna be fucking great, you’ve never let me down yet!

MintyMinute: Calm the fuck down, and your eyes had better be damn well shut.

Arsenal: My eyes are closed! You have no idea how hard I’ve got them shut right now.

MintyMinute: Nearly there.

Arsenal: The suspense is killing me!

MintyMinute: Alright, open your peepers.

Arsenal: …

MintyMinute: You like?

Arsenal: You. You went and stuck  _ googly eyes _ on your fucking cowboy hat,  _ holy shit _ , I can’t– _ Minty _ !

MintyMinute: What do you think?

Arsenal: -is laughing too hard to be coherent-

MintyMinute: -is laughing too hard to be coherent-

Arsenal: Holy  _ fuck _ , I cannot breathe!

MintyMinute: Get back in the bed!

Arsenal: I  _ can’t _ , I’m laughing too hard!

MintyMinute: This is just too precious, watching you lose it every single time you look at my hat band.

Arsenal: Fucking, I can’t–I’m literally crying, Minty,  _ crying _ .

MintyMinute: Nothing wrong with crying tears of mirth.

Arsenal: Why do you ruin me like this?

MintyMinute: You  _ love _ it.

Arsenal: I do. Oh, and Minty?

MintyMinute: Yes?

Arsenal: Please keep the hat on.

MintyMinute: I’m planning on it.

Arsenal: -is laughing too hard to be coherent-

– / / END OF ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

Arsenal tends not to let the other lieutenants in on any of his plans. It’s better that way. Hawker’s mouth has a habit of running away from them. Hurricane’s jittery when they get excited, so things spill. Gotha had no notion of subtlety, as with Cant, Arado and basically every other lieutenant Arsenal can care to name. Except for Siebel, but Siebel’s always cool.

Hawker and Hurricane get salty for a solid week if Daltos picks Siebel for one flight mission. Arsenal’s counting on it. 

He suspects that sometimes, Daltos likes to deliberately provoke his lieutenants into petty squabbles that can drag on for months. The lieutenants remain blissfully unaware of him pulling their strings, content to rib each other in their bid to prove that they’re the best at what they do. It’s like they thrive on wanting Daltos’ approval.

“Hey, Siebel, you got any spare flight goggles on you?” Arsenal leans on the Buzzard Siebel’s claimed.

“Yeah,” Siebel easily says. Their voice is crystal clear, despite their flight mask being in the way.

“You got the pair Daltos likes?” The nice thing about Siebel is that they don’t see the full picture of what’s in store regarding Arsenal’s plans.

“Sure do,” Siebel again, easily says. They hand the goggles over.

Arsenal suppresses a maniacal rub of his hands and a cackle once he’s holding said goggles. “I’ll hang onto these for him, okay?” All he receives is an acknowledging shrug.

Daltos shows up about ten minutes later, going over last minute preparations with Arado. Arsenal definitely wasn’t planning on Arado’s presence. Arado keeps a magnificent poker face as Daltos tugs on the flight goggles Arsenal innocently hands him.

“You got that?” Daltos asks. “Because if Gotha doesn’t get it, you need to sit down and–”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, just go.” Arado puts on their helmet. That’s a smart move, seeing as their poker face is beginning to show hints of a grin.

“Later,” Daltos simply says, climbing into the side seat. Arsenal climbs onto a different Buzzard on the other side, satisfied that his plan is now in effect.

When the Buzzards touch down half an hour later, Arsenal takes one step, catches sight of Daltos’ flight goggles and promptly topples to the ground, howling with laughter. Daltos reacts by assuming that the worst’s happening.

“Arsenal! Did you get shot?” Daltos crouches by him, rolling him onto his back.

The rest of the bandits begin to back away once they catch sight of what’s stuck to Daltos’ goggles. Nobody wants to be the first to tell him. Let him find out for himself and hope that he doesn’t take it out on the rest of us, is what slowly spreads through the ranks of the bandits.

“Arsenal!” Daltos smacks him in the face. He’s grabbed by the jacket to Arsenal can lean closer to him. “Are you shot?”

“Yeah,” Arsenal manages to say, weakly, tears leaking at the corner of his eyes, “by the beauty of your eyes.” He releases his grip on the jacket to continue dying.

Daltos lets him drop. He shoves up his goggles–feeling something that shouldn’t be there brush against a gloved fingertip. He tears off the goggles. There, stuck above the frame, are two eye-rolling black circles encased in transparent plastic.

He punches Arsenal. Grinning, Arsenal merely pulls out another one of those eyes, carefully attaching it to the eyelid of his blackened one.

Daltos tackles him to start a second round of pummeling to the sound of Arsenal’s hysterical laughter.

\--

#####  **the bandit between us**

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Arsenal:  _ Phwoar. _

MintyMinute: Heh, that’s exactly my reaction.

Ravs: Thirded.

Arsenal: I don’t know about you two, but I’m ready to call it a night.

Ravs: I’d rather make full use of the night, but if you’re tired, we can stop.

MintyMinute: We do need to all sleep.

Ravs: Time flies when you’re having fun.

MintyMinute: Hang on, can I get you to fill out the survey?

Ravs: I’d be honoured! I see you’ve revamped it, Minty.

MintyMinute: You like?

Ravs: This version’s easier on the eyes, like you.

MintyMinute: Stop hitting on me and get writing.

Ravs: Shit, can I do this orally?

MintyMinute: Sorry, forgot about your illiteracy.

Arsenal: I can write it down for you?

Ravs: Yes, please. 

Arsenal: Ready.

Ravs: Yes, I’d like to do this again, you two get full points on the sexperience score, and ‘actions speak louder than words’. You get nothing but praise from me. And cuddling would be very nice, if you two are up for it.

Arsenal: We’re always up for cuddling.

MintyMinute: I haven’t cuddled with you in months, Ravs.

Ravs: I have been cuddling! Just not with you.

Arsenal: Shove over, you two are hogging my bed.

Ravs: No, no, let me be in the middle.

MintyMinute: Left or right, Arsenal?

Arsenal: Left.

MintyMinute: I’m all right then.

Arsenal: Fucking hell, Minty.

MintyMinute: Hush, close your eyes and go the fuck to sleep.

Ravs: Anybody thirsty?

MintyMinute: You mean for you? Or for water?

Ravs: I see what you did there! Water’s what I’m after.

Arsenal: Hhhh, Ravs, I’m not getting up again, I just got comfy. Just shove me over or something.

MintyMinute: I want some water.

Ravs: That’s fine, I’ll just pick you up and move you.

Arsenal: You can manhandle me anytime with those hands.

Ravs: Next time, okay?

Arsenal: Fuck yeah. It is my goal to stay in this bed for the rest of the night, come hell or high water.

MintyMinute: I gotta pee. You think your lot will mind if I run down the hallway wearing just your shirt?

Arsenal: If anybody says something, give us a shout and we’ll ram their heads into the toilet and power flush it.

Ravs: Wear my kilt. It’s a bit cold tonight.

Arsenal: That’s something else to tell Daltos to fix, next to the leaking roof and airlocks.

MintyMinute: Aight.

Arsenal: So, how’s my daddy and you doing?

Ravs: I thought you stopped calling him ‘daddy’ after he ate your last ration bar in revenge.

Arsenal: Well, calling him ‘daddy’ again  _ is _ my revenge.

Ravs: See, I would like to do what you and Minty have got going with him, but it’s just not happening.

Arsenal: You tried giving him a dead body?

Ravs: I don’t think a dead body will help the romance along.

Arsenal: Giftwrap it. 

Ravs: Giftwrapping it isn’t going to help.

Arsenal: Not with that attitude.

Ravs: Am I doing something wrong?

Arsenal: I don’t think so.

Ravs: He’d tell me if I was doing something wrong, right?

Arsenal: He would.

Ravs: What if he’s not interested anymore?

Arsenal: I’m 99% sure he’d tell you to your face. Minty’s the same way; if she wasn’t happy with me, she’d lay it out like it is and I’d listen. They’re both similar like that.

Ravs: …

Arsenal: Don’t ever feel guilty for coming to us. We’re your friends too.

Ravs: I don’t want to have a fight about this.

Arsenal: It’s not gonna be a fight.

Ravs: How do you know?

Arsenal: We’ve both been in too many fights with other people, so we kinda know when and where to draw the line? Plus, Pandora’s a new place, and we’d hate to ruin it because of some stupid, insecure shit about seeing other people. Huh, I’m surprised I said all that without being drunk first. Ravs, pinch me, I actually gave good advice that’s not ‘set it on fire’, ‘shoot it’, or ‘blow it up’.

Ravs: It’s not a dream, Arsenal.

Arsenal: Go talk to him about it. He’s not gonna be mad about you bringing it up. Heck, he might even be feeling the same way.

Ravs: Here, have some water. And thanks. To you and Minty.

Arsenal: It’s all good, my man, we’re all best buds here.

MintyMinute: Just tell him that you want to raw him.

Arsenal:  _ Minty _ ! For fuck’s sake, I got water up my fucking nose!

Ravs: -is too busy laughing to be coherent-

– / / END OF ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Arsenal: Stop making Ravs feel bad and just talk to the poor guy already.

Daltos: I don’t know what this is about, but okay?

Arsenal: Do it tonight, I know you got nothing else on.

Daltos: Alright, alright. I don’t know why you need to sound so intense about it.

Arsenal: JUST DO IT! JUST DO IT–

Daltos: Okay! Just stop yelling, I got a fucking hangover.

– / / END OF ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

MintyMinute: Should we really be here for this?

Arsenal: Ssshh, just stay hidden. We can’t move now!

MintyMinute: Give me my hat.

Arsenal: Done. I fucking forget he was meeting Ravs here.

MintyMinute: Maybe this’ll teach you to think about where we meet up next time.

Arsenal: Okay, this one’s on me.

MintyMinute: Good thing he’s sitting on the other side.

Ravs: Found you. Hey, this isn’t our usual meeting place.

Daltos: This used to be the officer’s lounge. Nobody uses it anymore. Arsenal might.

Ravs: It’s quite nice. You mind if I…?

Daltos: Sit down. This is about tomorrow. I got the whole night off too, if you want to do something.

Ravs: Any time with you is good time, considering how often you’re away.

Daltos: I was thinking, if you wanted to hole up in my room, we could fuck around. Or something.

Ravs: I’d love to! Why do you make it sound like it’s a bad thing to want some time together?

Daltos: I don’t know.

Ravs: I swear, I’m going to give you the best night of your life!

Daltos: Or what, I get my money back?

Ravs: Let’s see if I can make the final push to get my borders back by noon tomorrow, so I can get back here early.

Daltos: Do you need me to send a couple of my units over?

Ravs: No, no, you just stay here and rest up! This is my battle. Can’t have you hogging some of the kills.

Daltos: Alright.

Ravs: You want to go get some takeout? New place just opened up past the southernmost watering hole. I reckon we can still make it if we take one of my shortcuts.

Daltos: Sure. Let me ECHO Arsenal.

Arsenal: Doo doo, just gonna pretend I’m napping.

Daltos: He’s not picking up.

Ravs: I saw Minty earlier. They might be doing what we’re planning on doing tomorrow.

Daltos: I left a message. Let’s go.

Ravs: I’ll drive.

Daltos: Don’t go over the cliff again.

– / / END OF ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Daltos: If you’re going to be staying over more often, I might need to ask Arsenal for a slightly bigger bed.

Ravs: There’s enough room!

Daltos: Yeah, well, Dahl didn’t think people would be cuddling in their bunks.

Ravs: At least this way, we get to cuddle. You don’t need a blanket while I’m here either.

Daltos: What are you doing?

Ravs: Minty gave me a thing. Don’t make such a sour face, it’s not anything rude.

Daltos: Forgive me if I doubt that claim.

Ravs: Here, fill this out for me. I want to hear how well I did!

Daltos: What the fuck is this?

Ravs: It’s a survey!

Daltos: Is this for real?

Ravs: Yes! It’s Minty’s. I think it could take off at some point.

Daltos: Ravs, you can laugh. I can see you wanting to.

Ravs: Okay, but I’m not laughing at you.

Daltos: Want me to read what I put down out to you?

Ravs: Please.

Daltos: Yes, I’d like to do this again.

Ravs: Oh, good. We could do it again right now–

Daltos: Later.

Ravs: Keep going.

Daltos: Nine and a half out of ten.

Ravs: What? That should be ten out of ten! Gimme that.

Daltos: Nope!

Ravs: You said you had an amazing time!

Daltos: I took half a point off because your goddamned boner has the potential to do some serious injury.

Ravs: Okay, now you’re just being nitpicky!

Daltos: -is laughing too hard to be coherent-

Ravs: Stop laughing at my dick.

Daltos: It’s still a pretty good score. I could have used this survey back in Dahl.

Ravs: I got another survey here.

Daltos: Your turn?

Ravs: I’d rather just tell you.

Daltos: Fine.

Ravs: Yes, of fucking course I would like to do this again. Anytime, really.

Daltos: There’s a time and place for fucking, and a battlefield isn’t one of them.

Ravs: I dunno, I think it’s possible.

Daltos: We’re not testing that.

Ravs: Ten out of ten, compared to  _ somebody _ who put down a lower score.

Daltos: Somebody’s salty they didn’t get a perfect score.

Ravs: My comment is that I’ll treasure all the sweet sounds you made when I got my mouth on your–

Daltos: Leave my dick out of the survey.

Ravs: Why? You didn’t leave mine out.

Daltos: Yours is ‘special’.

Ravs: Why?

Daltos: It just is.

Ravs: Aw. Thank you for the sincere compliment.

Daltos: It wasn’t.

Ravs: Ass. Come here and sleep.

Daltos: I practically deserve it for all the work I did.

– / / END OF ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

#####  **daltos and the seven lieutenants**

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Hawker: You’re gonna like this.

Daltos: Is it going to explode?

Hawker: Yes–no.

Arsenal: I’m already disappointed.

Hawker: We’ve been working on this Buzzard for two months! If it explodes, Arsenal’s getting the flak for it.

Arsenal: Sure, sure, blame it on the guy who fixes it every single time you run it into the ground because you forgot how to land.

Hurricane: Leave my bro alone, he’s still working on how to land.

Daltos: Is it functional?

Hurricane: Yeah.

Siebel: It’s gotta be, or else we’ve been flying around in a death trap.

Hawker: Shut up, Siebel!

Siebel: Alright.

Arsenal: Stop picking on the cool dude just because you got a tiny dick.

Hawker: My dick’s–

Daltos: We can’t exactly put these in the hanger. All our digistruct machines are all in the cargo bay.

Arsenal: Also, hanger’s been blocked off by the shipping containers we nicked from the Pedals.

Hurricane: We could rig up a lil platform up top, near one of those airlocks nobody uses.

Daltos: I’m surprised you had a good idea for once.

Hurricane: All my ideas are good ideas! You just don’t see them from my point of view.

Siebel: Actually, I got a couple of–

Hawker: I thought I told you to shut up!

Daltos: Hawker, go sit in the naughty corner until you learn how to stop being rude.

Hawker: You can’t make me!

Daltos: Cant! Perfect timing, we got a naughty boy who needs to have a time out. Go get Hawker!

Cant: Cant!

Hawker: Hurricane! Help!

Hurricane: You’re on your own, bro!

Hawker: I’m going to put itching powder in your hammock!

Arsenal: We do have some scrap metal lying about. If not, we can go and hit up those junkyards that’re near Ravs’ place.

Daltos: I think Siebel wanted to say something.

Siebel: Oh, uh, it’s fine–

Daltos: Unless Hurricane wants to join Hawker in the naughty corner, they’ll keep their mouth shut.

Hurricane: I don’t, it smells like somebody peed themselves in it.

Siebel: I got two buds who’re stuck down south. They got a rig up for digistructing mass machines. Trouble is, people keep stealing their shit. If you could help them out, they’d probably be willing to help you set up a bigger rig for the Buzzards.

Daltos: What kind of machines do they have?

Siebel: Beats me. They know more about it. I’m just passing what they tell me onto you.

Daltos: Why didn’t you say anything sooner?

Siebel: They couldn’t ECHO me for about a month. Their antennae got nicked.

Daltos: You got the coordinates?

Siebel: Sure do.

Arsenal: Uh. Shit.

Daltos: Fuck.

Hurricane: Welp.

Siebel: What’s wrong?

Daltos: That’s not anywhere near us.

Siebel: I’d go pick them, up but I’d get shot down. Plus, those machines are pretty heavy duty. You can’t move them using the Buzzards.

Daltos: I think Minty’s got a bunch of warehouses up in the crater mountains we could borrow, if we did get those moved.

Arsenal: Let me ECHO Minty.

Hurricane: Minty. Hi.

Siebel: Salutations.

Hurricane: What the fuck–heck kind of word’s that?

Siebel: It’s a fancy way of saying ‘hi’.

Arsenal: My love, do join us in our discussion of logistics.

Hurricane: I understood none of that.

Siebel: He just said–

Hurricane: I don’t need you to explain shit to me!

Daltos: Go argue somewhere else.

Arsenal: Yes, go away while the grownups are talking.

MintyMinute: Evening, boys. What can I do for you?

Arsenal: We got some sweet machinery that needs a home and it ain’t safe at the frigate. Can we borrow some warehouses? The mountain ones?

MintyMinute: I can have them cleaned out in a couple of days. What’re you storing?

Daltos: I want to get some machines to make some Buzzards. All of our current ones are about to die. Be really nice if I could mass produce them. We’re getting hit hard from all sides, so extra air artillery would make a massive difference.

MintyMinute: Big words for a big problem. I sense there’s more to this you’re not telling me.

Arsenal: Yep. The dudes who got them machines are located over  _ here _ , but we’re over  _ here _ .

MintyMinute: I’ve passed by there before.

Daltos: Could we do it without drawing attention? It’d be bad if they caught us sneaking through their territory.

MintyMinute: If you stick to the back roads. And by back roads, I mean, really stick to them. We’re talking a cross-country road trip. No towns, no people, just a fucking long ass drive. Shit could get freaky.

Arsenal: It’s worth a shot, right daddy?

Daltos: Fuck you.

Arsenal: Just let me know what time and place.

Daltos: Want to hear if Ravs has any ideas?

MintyMinute: Of course!

Ravs: Hello! How can I help?

Daltos: We need some help.

Ravs: Don’t worry, I heard all of it. I’m currently dropping off some booze with Minty. Sorry for eavesdropping.

Daltos: No, it’s fine, it saves us from explaining.

Ravs: Do we need to send convoys? I know a place we can hit up.

Siebel: Sorry to interrupt–

Ravs: No, no, go on!

Siebel: Alright. Uh, they got convoys on the other end. All you’d have to do is get there, load it all up and move it here before anybody notices.

MintyMinute: It sounds easy.

Daltos: I’ll need to sort out who’s going and staying. Obviously, I’m going.

MintyMinute: Just gonna point out that if you don’t mind, I’m tagging along.

Daltos: Why?

MintyMinute: If you succeed, and I give you my warehouses, I want you to send over a couple of units in those Buzzards to watch my borders.

Daltos: Fair enough.

Arsenal: I’m going.

Daltos: No, I need you to stay behind.

Arsenal: Arado’s got everything covered! And if Minty’s going, I’m going.

Ravs: I’m also going. You’re going to need some muscle if things get tricky.

Daltos: Ravs.

Ravs: Daltos, Heinkel might be nonverbal sometimes, but they know what they’re doing.

MintyMinute: I got Hollie.

Daltos: Alright. Cant! Bring Hawker back here. And round up the other lieutenants who’re here.

Cant: Cant!

Hawker: I’m free! I’m free!

Daltos: Second thought, put Hawker back. Let’s see...Scarface, Gotha, Klemm, Fieseler, Hawker, Hurricane and Siebel are in charge. Everybody else gets to defer. That means ‘you follow their orders or get put in the sin bin’. Scarface’s got priority rank. Somebody let Bucker know I’ll be away.

Arado: Got it. When’re you gonna be back?

Daltos: Let’s say two weeks. If I ain’t back by then, just keep the war machine running.

– / / END OF ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

#####  **rabid ravs: fury road**

Approaching the frigate on foot (or by technical) will never cease to fill Ravs with awe. Dahl warships are a rare sight beyond Dahl controlled space.

Spotting one indicated that a conflict’s about to entangle the systems they’re spotted in. Fortunately, Dionysus is relatively sheltered so he’d never grown up knowing what it’d be like to have warships rain hell on a world. Nonetheless, he’s familiar with the stories passed around by travelers passing through his clan’s pubs, back on Dionysus.

He’s somewhat glad that the one Daltos and Arsenal reside in is permanently grounded. If Daltos ever manages to reactivate it (and asking him incurred a flippant and an abrupt change of topic), Pandora’s in for a reckoning of epic proportions. Ravs isn’t sure how he’d feel about Pandora coming under the single banner of a bandit warlord.

He wouldn’t mind, provided Daltos doesn’t let all that power go to his head. Those lieutenants of his, however, pose a dilemma. There’s a shifty looking one that Ravs sometimes catches staring at Daltos. Would he get mad if he went behind his back and quietly took out that lieutenant?

It’s too early to think so deeply. He prefers to think about murder once it’s early morning and not dawn. After making the turn, Ravs signals with the technical’s headlights, getting a pass from one of the spotlights up on the roof. He parks the technical, trooping inside. It’s nippy outside. His leather jacket protects him from the worst of it.

Arsenal’s off picking up Minty from her place. He’ll be back soon. Ravs knocks on Daltos’ door, waiting patiently. Daltos doesn’t answer, probably still asleep. Ravs keys in the room’s code, slipping in. There’s a few ways to wake up a sleeping person. He holds up both hands when he spots a gun being pointed at him.

Daltos lowers the SMG, stowing it in his digistruct module. He’s not asleep, he’s ransacking his lockers. Yawning, Daltos mumbles, “Morning.”

“You ready to go?” Ravs adores the tousled hair. He hasn’t yet told Daltos about the tiniest sliver of grey sneaking in amongst the black strands.

“Yeah, just grabbing some spare rations and stuff.” Daltos drops ammo into his module. It’s gone in a flash. “Where’s Arsenal and Minty?”

“They’ll be here soon.” Ravs closes one of the locker doors that’s still open.

“I hope Arsenal doesn’t fall asleep driving. He told me he practically inhaled the entire coffee pot before leaving.”

“It’s okay, we’ll stop somewhere for pee breaks and to eat. Do you want to get some coffee before we go?”

“Sounds good.” Daltos turns off the light and locks his room.

Ravs follows him downstairs to the kitchen. He takes one of Daltos’ hands. “Wait, did you say Arsenal inhaled the entire coffee pot?”

There’s a lot of sleepy looking sentries back from late-night patrol, switching out with an equally sleepy lot of bandits. A few mumble greetings and farewells to Daltos, who also mumbles back.

“Morning!” is a booming shout that makes half of the bandits start, gun barrels snapping up. A couple shriek when bayonets jab into arms, legs or whatever’s closest. And then the snickers start.

Daltos turns his head, as with Ravs. At the entrance to the kitchen is Arsenal, who’s sporting the biggest grin on his face. In his hand is a jittering cup of coffee.

Behind him, Minty yawns. “We all ready to go?” At least Minty looks reasonable about being woken up at a hideous hour for the road trip.

“What happened to him?” Ravs points as Arsenal power walks down the hallway, whistling to the annoyance of bandits on their way back from duty.

“I couldn’t stop him from having one more cup of coffee. ‘fraid he’ll be like this for three hours.” Minty explains. “Gods, he wouldn’t shut the fuck up in the technical so I had to pretend I was asleep.”

“Oh joy,” Daltos mutters. He finally notices Ravs is holding onto his hand. Ravs gives him an imploring look. Daltos squeezes his hand. Minty tries to take his other hand. He stiffens, glancing at where Arsenal walked off, his gaze traveling back down at Minty’s hand. Minty grins at him.

Daltos tugs his hand out of both their grips, walking off. Ravs has the softest look on his face, his empty fingers curling on thin air. Minty slips her hand into his instead.

\--

Arsenal drives for about about five hours before the coffee wears off, rendering him catatonic. Ravs gallantly volunteers to drive the next shift; neither Minty or Daltos argue with him. 

Minty stretches across the rooftop of the technical, hat tilted down over her eyes. Daltos naps in the back with Arsenal, curled up right against the metal backing between the driver seat. Arsenal’s sprawling takes up the rest of the trailer.

The four of them look like a bunch of odd strangers carpooling across Pandora’s medieval landscape. Nobody past their borders should, in theory, recognize them, which is what they’re all counting on. 

Arsenal’s traded out his military jacket for a bandit one, duller and less insulated, a size too large for his shoulders. Minty’s added a sniper rifle holster to her back, letting people assume that she’s a hunter. Daltos dropped his bandolier and navy jacket, wearing a simple black jacket. Ravs hasn’t changed his looks one bit, relying on surprise and his stunning looks (according to his contrived logic).

Ravs puts the radio on, not so much as to absorb new music, but to keep his mind chewing on something: he wants to stop being a bandit.

It’s been over a year since he escaped the jail. There’s a bounty out there on his head, as well as on his fellow escapees. He likes being a bandit, except, he can’t really see himself being one for the rest of his life. For starters, he hasn’t got the ability to inch past forty if he keeps throwing himself into fights.

Bandits lived short lives, ferocious and unapologetic in almost every interaction. There’s more to life than fucking, drinking and fighting, and he’s stuck contemplating if a bandit can ever stop truly being a bandit.

He’s can’t say how the other three will react once he tells them that he’s ready to hand his gang and place over.

\--

The technical’s wild rocking ends when Ravs pulls to the side of the road. All but one of the passengers disembark, crowding around to ponder the deflating tire.

“Huh.” Ravs taps a finger on his chin. “You'd think it’d have held up after we went through that patch of bones.”

“You know, maybe that’s exactly why we lost a tire,” Daltos flatly says. He crouches, a hand feeling along the wheel. A toolkit’s digistructed. Ravs and Minty lean against the technical while Daltos changes the tire.

“Daltos, do you know what you’re doing?” Minty inquires.

“I dunno, I think Daltos knows exactly what he’s doing,” Ravs purrs.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Minty points down at her belt, giving a seductive swivel of her hips.

Daltos ignores the two’s raucous laughter. Arsenal dozes on, smiling at whatever dream he’s dreaming. 

He dreams of Ravs tearing up the road; which is exactly what happens half an hour later when another one of Ravs’ shortcut takes them through hibernating rakk hive land.

\--

#####  **it’s always sunny on pandora**

“Whose fantastic idea was it to buy all this discounted ale again?” Arsenal pops the cap off his fourth rakk ale, chugging it.

“Easy on the booze there, or you’ll throw up,” Minty reminds, grinning. Her face has gone pink; her hat’s in the back of the technical, as with her coat.

“Wasn’t me,” Daltos lazily says, an unlit cigarette in one of his hands.

“I remember nothing about that idea,” Ravs happily says. “But getting drunk in summer, now  _ that’s _ a good idea.”

“How are you not drunk yet?” Arsenal swivels in the turret. “I  _ swear _ you inhaled at least three bottles.”

“You can thank my proud heritage for that,” Ravs smugly says.

“You know what’d be better than getting drunk in summer?” Minty sits up, propping her boots on the back of the technical. “A nice, cool dip somewhere.”

“I know a place. It’s not too far from here, actually.” Ravs steers the technical off the road, letting it bounce over a few dunes. Minty grabs her hat so it doesn’t fly off. A pocket of towering trees sprout from the dunes. Some time passes.

“We’re here!” Ravs parks  the technical by the lake’s deserted shore. “Would you look at that? The lake’s still full.”

“How do you know about this place?” Arsenal slides out of the turret, hanging onto the door to stop himself ending up on the ground. He squints at the still water reflecting at the bright moon.

The lake’s a dark patch on the ground, spanning the width and length of his cargo bay. A sturdy pier extends a metre or so into the lake. It’s not anything grand, but on Pandora, an untouched lake is a marvel to admire.

“Camped here for a couple of nights after I did a runner.” Ravs tugs off his leather jacket, folding it into his inventory. He slips off his kilt and boots. “It’s pretty safe, and the water’s great.”

Minty removes all her clothes save her shirt, earning a shrill wolf-whistle from Arsenal. Grinning, she tosses it into his face, cutting loose to take a running jump off the pier. He peels it off, hopping out of his boots and clothes to cannonball into the water after her. There’s yelling at how cold the lake actually is, then laughter.

“You coming in?” Ravs picks up all the stray clothing, walking around to the back where Daltos is reclining next to the near empty box of booze. A kilt’s thrown in to join a hat and a coat, plus whatever Ravs collected, forming a messy pile.

“Nah.” Daltos absently dismisses him with a wave of his hand. He despawns his smoke. “I’m fine here.”

“You know what you need? A sobering dip in the lake.” Ravs reaches over to haul him into his arms. Daltos starts trying to wriggle out, his flailing hampered by Ravs’ solid arms wrapped around him.

“No, fuck, Ravs, put me down!” Ravs arrives at the pier, striding until he’s standing at the edge. Grinning, he throws Daltos in. A dark shape flounders, sinking. Gasping, Daltos swims up to the surface, glaring at him. “You–” A string of Pandoran expletives follow, between bouts of coughing. He narrows his eyes, turning his gaze up. “Your dick looks really small from this angle.”

“My dick ain’t small, it’s eternal,” Ravs solemnly says, earning a snort from Daltos. Daltos spies movement behind Ravs.

Minty’s climbed out to tiptoe behind Ravs on the pier. It shouldn’t have been possible to shove Ravs, though she proves that wrong. He plunges into the water with a surprised shout, sending up a massive wave. Daltos shakes his head, wiping his face with a hand. 

Minty and him start laughing at the look on Ravs’ face, up until Ravs starts trying to grab him, diving below to escape. Content, Arsenal floats on the surface of the lake, half-listening to the others.

The four climb out, settling on the shore to dry. Daltos stays in the lake to find out how deep it is. The three watch him submerge and surface at regular intervals; he gives up to smoke, legs dangling over the edge of the pier. He’d stripped down as well, leaving his clothes to dry on the technical’s hood.

“You know, this is the first time we’ve all been naked in one place, at the same time,” Minty drawls, the cigarette in her hand shedding ashes. Her long, blonde hair hangs along her back, clinging to it.

Arsenal sits up where he’s been lightly dozing. “Did my towel just move?”

“What towel? The towels are in the back with the booze.” Ravs confirms it with a glance. “I dunno what you’ve been leaning on.”

Arsenal reaches behind him. “Uh. What’s scaly, likes to hide in sand, and squeals like scared, newborn skags?”

“Scythids!” Ravs leaps up at the same time as Minty and Arsenal. 

The sand around them erupts with a number of writhing, hard-shelled shapes, bracketed on both sides by a curved segment that look like a shuttle’s stabilizers..

Three of the larger scythids rear, whip-like tendrils emerging from their rounded mouths to sense their prey. Smaller scythids wriggle, dislodging the last of the sand, squealing, their back feelers vibrating in time to their movement.

“Get them away from the technical!” Minty orders. “Some of their acid sprays can melt the engine and turret!”

Arsenal kicks a dark brown one right between the pincers, sending it screeching as it flies. It hits the dirt road with a satisfying crunch. The scythid flips over, scuttling back into the fray, straight towards him. Pincers snap madly at his feet. He hops backwards, balance suffering from a ridiculous combination of fear and drunkenness.

“Holy shit! Bad day to not have a gun!” He yelps.

Ravs punches one that’s about as tall as he is, wrestling it to the ground. His punch sinks into the softer abdomen, the shell cracking under the force of it; the scythid lashes at his face with a whip-like sound. Ravs rolls out of the way. A smaller scythid leaps at him. Ravs hurls it at the larger one.

Arsenal almost slips on the wet sand when gunshots fill the air, his head turning to find Minty firing a pistol. It cracks in her hand, shots neatly puncturing scythid shells and bodies.

“Where did you get a gun from?” Arsenal dives behind her, just in time as the dark brown scythid’s pincers were about to close around an ankle.

Without taking her eyes off the nearest scythid, she shoves a shotgun into his hands. Arsenal immediately puts it to good use. One blast decimates the scythid that’d chased him, guts and bits of it exploding across the sand.

“Yuk,” Arsenal mutters. 

The stench wafting from the mess is out of a hunter’s dumping ground. He bludgeons the next scythid with the butt of the shotgun, uppercutting it into the water. It furiously wriggles until the water suffocates it, the nonstop squeaking ominously silenced.

“Get in the lake!” Ravs’ hands find the back of a scythid attempting to whip him.

He  _ lifts _ it until its legs are clear of the ground, swinging it left and right, the unlucky scythid shrieking in horrible pain the entire time. The scythid breaks apart in half, insides sloppily hitting the ground in wet chunks and splatters. The corpse is discarded. He rounds on the next scythid, mouth pulled back in a grimace as he destroys it with a backhanded sweep of his fist.

Ravs’ glorious, destructive rampage  _ decimates _ whatever’s in his way as he rends a path towards the two.

Minty grabs Arsenal by the shoulder, hustling him towards the water’s edge. Cold water splashes under their bare feet. The guns in their hands despawn. Ravs swan dives in, dragging the two of them under with his weight.

Buzzsaws cleave the surface, skipping like pebbles. Flailing, Arsenal opens his mouth, a stream of bubbles escaping him. Ravs’ hand is like a vice on his arm, the fear of drowning spiking in Arsenal.

The slew of buzzsaws taper off, not a second too soon. Arsenal’s head breaks the water, his panicked gasps drawing in air.

Ravs kicks up, breaking the surface of the water as well. Gasping, he calls out, “Daltos! Are they all dead yet?”

Daltos clambers down from the turret, leaning against the technical (which is still in one piece). “I think so,” He slurs. “You’re welcome.” He sighs. “I lost my smoke.”

Minty, Ravs and Arsenal haul themselves out of the lake. “So, I didn’t know scythids moved in.” Ravs laughs, sheepish. 

“It’s fine, we’re not drunk anymore after that,” Minty says. “Have another smoke, this one’s on me,” She offers Daltos one from her own personal stock. He gratefully accepts it.

“So, Minty, where were you keeping those guns?” Arsenal inquires.

“What guns?” She says, wringing out her hair. Water splats on the ground. Miniscule bumps are forming across her skin. He’s tempted to kiss her, still feeling the adrenaline high.

“The guns you used to kill the scythids?” He reminds.

“You must be super drunk, ‘cause I don’t remember handing you any guns.”

A lone, confused scythid pops up by their feet. Ravs reacts by slamming a fist down on top of it. It reacts as any creature would when a fist meets it with enough speed to cream it: it explodes.

Taking his second ruined smoke of the night out of his mouth, Daltos puts down his hand, which is covered in scythid parts, fluids and innards. Arsenal and Minty do likewise. Ravs grins. The three grab him, throwing him into the lake.

As Ravs swims back to shore, Daltos doesn’t miss the way Arsenal’s hand brushes against his bare arm, or how Minty leans against his shoulder, her drying hair ticklish.

\--

#####  **the fantastic foursome**

To all of their delight, the neon lights of a motel crops up along the highway. Daltos pulls into the carpark, slotting neatly into an empty space. He locks the technical, following the others crowding into reception.

Reception is a room the size of a suburban garage, styled after a dentist’s waiting room. Magazines quietly reside in a wire rack, chronologically ordered, by title and date. The water cooler in the corner gurgles as the internal filter chortles, at some private joke between it and the pipe leading into it. 

Feeling rather self-conscious (and not because they’re still in foreign territory), the four take their time to wipe their boots on the welcome mat. The hair-raising grit of sand, mud, scythid guts and dirt’s sucked out by the mat’s hard fibres.

The dark green carpet is right thickness for boot soles to sink, a bit like the loving caress of quicksand before the conscious realisation arrived. And the walls are a pale pink, like a terra fish’s insides had been crushed, squeezed, pureed and used as paint.

Ravs approaches the counter, tapping the metal bell squatting underneath a ‘ring for service’ sign flapping from a nonexistent breeze. “Hello? We’d like a room for four.” His voice doesn’t travel, falling short of reaching the room’s corners.

A pair of yellow eyes unfold. The motel owner addresses them from a shadowy, curtained nook. Later, none of the four can remember precisely what the owner sounded or looked like, or the motel name. On the other hand, twenty five dollars are missing from each of their inventories. Arsenal also found a complimentary mint and pack of matches tucked into his side jacket pocket.

Their room is upstairs, on the first floor. Opaque dishes set into the ceiling fill the room with a softer glow compared to the cheap, neon lights that motels offered. It offsets the pale, washed out blue walls and the grey carpet. Twin beds with a metre-sized gap between them await the four.

Minty compliments the decor and furniture; it’s simple, easy to move in a heartbeat and will do nicely as a barricade if an ambush happens. When she flops onto a bed, she idly comments, “Yep, we can use this.”

“Use what?” Daltos stops inspecting the pictures of fruit on the walls.

“Never you mind,” Minty says, eyeing Arsenal. Arsenal eyes her back with a raised eyebrow. Ravs pretends to be investigating the microwave. The way his gaze takes in the two rather than him presses old doubt along the inside of Daltos’ heart.

Daltos almost asks, then thinks better of it. It’s too late to go back to the reception and ask if there’s any single rooms available. He nabs the bathroom before the three can. Thank fuck, the door locks.

Compared to the dip in the lake, the warm water’s a premium luxury. It's not as hot as he’d have liked it (hot enough to burn, leaving his skin lightly scalded, reminding him that he’s still here). Still, it won’t get any complaints from him. His mental track of time counts down the five minutes he always assigns to a shower.

Five minutes goes by awfully quick when it’s just him and his thoughts. It’s not like him to be this anxious; anxiousness is Arado’s forte, not his. He deals by retreating to a quiet place to smoke, letting it settle out with time. 

It hasn’t been easy, maintaining one vice. Whenever Arsenal complains about his stash being plundered, Daltos always feels guilty, replacing it a couple days later. He doubts Arsenal knows it’s him. Arsenal suspects the light-fingered Rats who’ve claimed the corner of the clearing to build up a literal rat’s nest.

As it stands, he’s stuck in a motel with three other people who’re much more interested in each other; he might be seeing one, but that’s doubtful at best. At worst, they’re doing it because they’re bored. They wouldn’t be the first to do that.

He can’t exactly rain down on Ravs’ parade for finding his own entertainment elsewhere. That one’s on him; he should be around a lot more. Balancing sleep, his personal hygiene, sanity, keeping a hundred or so people alive while waging war’s hard enough without throwing in wanting a social life of his own into the equation.

Comparing Arsenal’s appearance to the photograph of him kept inside his lockbox highlights the new scarring atop Arsenal’s nose, a smattering of freckles rendered more obviously from a darkening tan, plus the hard edge of doing whatever it takes to survive that’s present in every bandit’s eyes.

That should have been the Arsenal aboard the frigate, not Arsenal the bandit lieutenant, following him about on a dead end, empty quest.

When Daltos compares his photograph to his own, he’s shed weight to the point that his jacket’s noticeably looser around his chest and shoulders, grey’s poking through the black strands of hair above an ear, dark circles growing in under his eyes, he’s all but aged five complete years.

For all her rude jokes and stealing his smokes, tough as nails Minty’s accepted him as being inseparable from Arsenal. She takes pains to include him in her and Arsenal’s outings. He always declined, suspecting that Arsenal asks her to ask him. And now they’ve asked Ravs.

He can’t describe what Ravs means to him. He cares for Ravs; Ravs would drop whatever he’s doing, if it means making him happy, and it fucks with him, to know that in the end, he’s going to pay Ravs back by hurting him in leaving.

The three are content as they are. He has no place in all that.

Done stalling, Daltos shuts off the water, aware that the sound carries into the other room, the refilling pipes twitching in the walls. He almost expects there to be quiet conversation as he gets dressed. It’s dead silent.

Patting down his jacket pockets tells him he’s still got enough smokes to last him the night outside. The bandit technicals aren’t built for a good night’s sleep, not unless he’s prepared for a rough night ahead of him when he can’t afford to go anywhere else. This is one of those nights.

Minty, Arsenal and Ravs glance up when he closes the bathroom door behind him. Daltos keeps his expression as neutral as possible. It doesn’t work on Ravs.

“Where’re you going?” Ravs slips off the bed, intercepting him by the room’s door. “What’s wrong?”

“You don’t need me here,” Daltos carefully says.

It sucks how Ravs looks taken aback. Being him, he shakes it off like it’s nothing. “That’s not true. You’re important to a lot of people.” He always finds exactly the right and wrong thing to say. 

“No, I’m not.” The look passing from Minty, to Arsenal and to Ravs tells him that they’ve talked about this when he’s not around. That all but confirms it. “Look, you’ve got it all planned out. I don’t want to get in the way of things.” Here’s to hoping that the three don’t make it awkward. That’s wishful thinking, given how they’ve got the rest of the trip to make it through. “Enjoy your night.”

His hand’s turning the doorknob when Ravs’ finds the top of his knuckles. He forgot to put gloves on, when leaving the bathroom. The contact hurts, in the sense that he wants it. Ravs knows it, can feel it in his hesitance to open the door, walk out and never look back. 

It’s how Ravs can say what he wants and not get any flak for it.

“If you walk out of this room, we’ll understand,” Ravs’ voice drifts over one tense shoulder as he takes his hand away, as if he’d rather not influence the decision. “But if you do, please stop whatever you’re doing to yourself.”

Daltos hates it when Ravs uses the gentle voice, like he can talk anyone into seeing things from his point of view. The really shitty part is that it fucking works.

Minty and Arsenal are watching. Daltos would prefer it if they weren’t, because–the realisation is right  _ there _ , and he’s going to keep denying it because that’s how things are supposed to be.

He’s not supposed to let any of them  _ in _ , not after what’d happened the last time he’d let someone get this close. Not that it’d stopped them from bloody trying, proving persistent to the point of fucking obnoxiousness. If they’d stopped, he’s not sure if he’d feel disappointed or relieved.

Daltos lets his hand drop. Something like relief enters Ravs’ face. He nearly brightens, stopping himself at the last second like he knows that Daltos could still change his mind.

“You’re staying?” Ravs sounds so  _ hopeful _ . 

Daltos merely answers him with a slight jerk of his head. The sudden grins adorning Minty and Arsenal’s faces is a sight that goes right through his gut like a punch, taking his insides with it.

Arsenal swaggers over, having stripped down to his pants while waiting. “My friend, my guy, my dude, my bro,” Arsenal drawls, throwing his arm over Daltos’ shoulders, “it’s not weird if you don’t make it weird.”

“You’re my lieutenant,” Daltos says after a brief pause, looking away.

“I’m not your lieutenant right now,” Arsenal softly says. “How many times do I have to remind you?” His laugh is full of comforting warmth. “You’re not with  _ them _ anymore. You’re with us now.”

“We’ll be gentle,” Ravs softly adds.

“We’re always gentle, what’re you talking about?” Arsenal laughs. When he moves, his arm takes Daltos with him, positioning him by the bed. “Hey, still with me?”

“Yeah.”

“Bit much for you to take in right now, huh?” Arsenal’s hand feels very nice on his own. His eyes narrow. “If you say ‘no homo’, I’m going to fucking headbutt you.”

That earns a small laugh. “You three’d probably kill me if I ruin the mood.”

“Or, we could do something about it.” Ravs is taking his jacket for him, dropping it onto the floor. “Still hesitating?”

He is. Hearing it still doesn’t convince Daltos’ mind that this is happening. He expects them to yank the floor out from under him. Still does, in a sense.

Ever the impatient one, Minty solves that particular problem by rising from the other bed, crossing the room, shoving Arsenal and Ravs out of the way and pressing her mouth against Daltos’.

“That enough proof for you?” She murmurs, fingers already looped into his belt so that he can’t get away that easily. He stares at her. At last, he nods. “Let’s get this show on the road, then.” She shoves him onto the bed, a playful smirk curving on her lips.

\--

Minty cracks open an eye. There’s the sound of someone rummaging through the collective piles of clothing on the floor. A dark figure is kicking aside shirts, belts and boots. She watches them extract underwear, tugging them on. Remaining as silent as possible, she reaches down, picking up what they’re also probably trying to find. The belt slipping out of it clinks.

“Looking for these?” Minty dangles it on one finger, sitting up.

“Minty, give me my pants,” Daltos flatly says, picking up two digistruct modules. They’re clipped to his underwear.

“First, you’ll have to get back in the bed,” Minty commands. “It’s too early to be awake. Look, we’re not going to smother you with a pillow.”

Daltos deadeyes her, holding out a hand. “Don’t be difficult.”

She shrugs, despawning them. “Alright, be that way.” 

Beside her, Arsenal and Ravs continue to sleep soundly. Arsenal’s nearly drooling on the pillow underneath his head. Without taking her eyes off Daltos, she reaches over to scratch Arsenal’s back, causing him to roll over, burying his face in Ravs’ bare shoulder (and drool on him instead).

Daltos runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “Know what, fuck it, I don’t need pants to have a smoke.” He opens the motel door, stepping outside in his underwear. The door closes, rocking the pictures on the wall.

Minty sighs. She lifts Arsenal’s arm off her, leaving it on Ravs’ thigh. Her own pants are somewhere in the pile that’s Arsenal’s jacket and Ravs’ kilt. Arsenal’s shirt will do for the time being.

Barefoot, Minty joins Daltos outside. It’s close to dawn, or what Pandora considers dawn while the second phase of night winds down. Nobody’s in the carpark to oogle the two of them. 

Pink and yellow fill out the sky beyond the slices of wispy, pale clouds in the sky. The air faintly smells of road fumes, otherwise clear and pleasantly cool on the two’s bare skin.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Minty offers him a lighter as he fiddles with his smoke.

“I slept fine.” Daltos holds out his cigarette, which she lights for him. 

“How do you feel?” She lights up her own.

“Okay, I guess.” He gives her a searching look, after blowing a smoke ring.

“Surprise, I’m not always a stone cold bitch. If I was, Arsenal would’ve said something about it ages ago.” She chuckles. “So, what’s  _ really _ eating you?”

“I don’t know how to feel about,” Daltos says while vaguely gestures with the hand holding his cigarette, in the direction of the motel room, “all this.” His hand comes to rest on the railing.

“Did it feel good?” Minty waggles both eyebrows. “It’d better, or else a few people have been lying to me or faking it on my survey.”

Daltos gives her a dry look. “Hard to fake it when one person’s kissing you and the other two got their mouths elsewhere.” He sighs. “Look, I’m not implying you three are terrible in bed.” In a softer voice, he says, “I had a great time.”

“I had a great time too.” Minty blows a smoke ring of her own. “Finally got to see what Ravs was on about.” She gives him an unusually sharp look. “But look, if you don’t want in, then speak up now. We won’t ask you again.”

“No, that’s not–” Daltos runs a hand through his hair, switching his cigarette to his other one. “Fuck.” He winces at the implication of that sole, spoken word. “I want in.” The sudden guilt on his face makes her want to pat him.

“ _ Oh _ .” Minty smiles. “The other two will be happy to hear it.” She reaches to pat his ass rather than his cheek or head. He steps away before she can do so.“I think we can sneak in a round before they wake up, what do you say?”

“If you’re quiet.”

“I’m  _ always _ quiet!”

“That’s not what I heard last night.”

“We’re getting off-topic. Normally I’d let that happen, but let me be honest here.” Minty takes a deep breath. “You’re such a mess–” 

“Thanks,” Daltos flatly says, sarcasm filling in the rest of his tone, “I really needed to hear that. Look at that, all my problems are solved.” In two steps, she’s pressed up against him, her piercing blue eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“You gonna shut the fuck up and let me finish?” Her low voice wraps around his neck, pulling tight.

A heartbeat of a silence passes between them. Minty’s eyes flick down, to the waistband of his black underwear. She adjusts her knee, smirking. He’s not going to give her the satisfaction of whining that she has an unfair advantage.

“Yes,” He says when the silence becomes too much, her sharp gaze holding his own.

“Yes,  _ what _ ?”

“Yes, ma’am,” He grounds out.

“That’s more like it.” Minty retreats, letting him have his personal space back. She does affectionately pat his cheek before doing so. “Good boy. See, you  _ do _ learn fast,” She croons.

“I don’t know what Arsenal sees in you.” Daltos leans on the railing, finishing up his smoke.

“And I don’t know what he or Ravs see in  _ you _ .” Minty’s lip curls. “Anyways, let’s face it, you’re  _ our _ mess.”

“We’re all a mess,” Daltos sighs.

“But a happy mess,” Minty corrects. She turns her head. “I think Arsenal and Ravs are waking up.” 

Beyond the door, Daltos can hear the faint sounds of Ravs’ loud disgust at discovering that Arsenal drooled on him, plus Arsenal not sounding sorry at all for doing so by laughing his head off.

Cigarette bobbing in her shameless grin, Minty tosses Daltos his pants (which he catches). “Go get us some breakfast and check out of the gift shop, will you?”

He sighs, tugging them on so he doesn’t get refused service. In the gift shop window, there’s an ancient container of paints that seems right up Arsenal’s alley. 

Minty’s hint leads him to walk in and fork out the money to buy it. It’s an overdue gift for Arsenal, who’s basically worn out every marker he scrounges up in pointless doodling on the weapons he takes care of.

\--

#####  **daltos and the buzzard factory**

The mysterious motel left behind them, the four take the technical deeper into enemy territory, threading into craggy mountains carved into the landscape. The mountains curve sharply, forcing the four to drop their speed. 

As the air begins to chill, sending his breath out in puffs, Arsenal leans over from the turret to rap on the roof of the technical. Daltos acknowledges him by lifting the hand resting on the frame.

“You want to swap?” He shouts.

Daltos nods. The fatigue from driving for several hours straight is wearing him down, to the point where Arsenal notices slight stutters and delays in reacting to the turns in the road.

Minty and Ravs snore in the back of the technical, wrapped up in a thermal blanket someone (probably Ravs) had the foresight to pack. Still equipped with their military grade jackets and shields pushed to the max against the cold, Arsenal and Daltos can carry on.

The switch happens seamlessly, Arsenal rolling out of the turret so Daltos can take his place. On an uneventful ride like this, he can nap while Arsenal drives.

He doesn’t get to nap; the technical hits a bump, proceeding to tilt dangerously to one side. Arsenal quietly curses, pulling over. The incident roused Minty and Ravs. Ravs yawns, sleepily moving her off him as she chugs water from a canteen. Daltos remains in the turret, resting his chin on a hand, watching Arsenal get out.

“Alright, what’s the problem?” Minty hops down from the technical, tying her hair back with a band. 

Arsenal’s already inspecting the busted tire, wincing at the damage. “Tire blew out. Again.”

“We got another spare with all the turret gear,” Daltos comments. He moves to leave the turret; Ravs reaches back, grabbing him by the back of the jacket.

“No, no, you stay put,” Ravs firmly insists. “You’ve been driving.” He coyly smiles. “So let us do all the work for once. Sleep in the back, we’ll take care of this.”

Not in any position to argue with a headache or the perfect logic in Ravs’ words, Daltos slips down into the back of the technical. Ravs rests a hand on his head, running his fingers through his hair until to all appearances, Daltos is fast asleep. Ravs tucks the blanket in around him.

Arsenal’s hauling out a toolkit from his inventory, unbolting a portable jack from the side door underneath the turret. Minty and Ravs keep watch. Minty lights up a smoke, puffing on it.

“We’re practically on their doorstep,” She remarks. “We could ask for help.”

“If Siebel was smart about ECHOing ahead, they’d know we were coming, but no, let’s get this piece of shit up and running so we don’t have to walk,” Arsenal grunts, wrestling with the tire. “Hey Ravs, get over here and put all that muscle to use.”

Grinning, Ravs makes short work of the tire, following Arsenal’s instructions. Arsenal gives him a dry look. “I see why he keeps you around.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Ravs winks.

Arsenal pretends to fan himself, grinning back. “Whew, if I wasn’t already taken with you, I’d be jumping into your arms right now.”

“My arms are always free for you,” Ravs flirts back.

Minty glances back at Arsenal, then back at Ravs. Daltos is still sleeping, curled up on his side. It’s tempting to dump a canteen of water onto his head; Minty refrains, letting the poor bastard sleep off his driving shift.

Between Arsenal, Ravs (and a good kick from Minty), the technical revives. Approximately two hours later, the technical’s almost dead. Running into a band of scouts hadn’t been the plan, shortcuts could be tricky in unfamiliar territory, the maps are freehanded and well, maybe throwing that explosive cocktail at a rival gang wasn’t the best idea when the four haven’t had a good fight in a while.

Arsenal’s ECHO device crackles as it activates. The technical’s back and sides have taken a beating, engine coughing and sputtering indignantly. He’s gunning it for all its worth. In the back, Minty and Daltos are sharpshooting, pistol and SMG firing in alternating bursts. Ravs mans the turret, swinging it to intercept the light runners attempting to flank them.

Daltos drops a grenade over the side. It explodes, upturning a light runner who’d been unlucky enough to swerve into it.

“Keep going!” A strongly accented voice crackles, through the four’s ECHO devices. “We got our doors wide open for you!”

“Who’s this?” Arsenal shouts, drifting along the road. He misses the answer in the explosion, as a barrel nearly makes him do a full turn. He corrects for it, swearing profusely.

Minty snaps off a shot that slaps a bandit in the face, making them bleed out of their eye. She shakes her gun, sighing. “Out of ammo!”

Daltos shoves some into her waiting hand, the rattling burst of Emperor a familiar sound to Arsenal. When it stops, he knows there’s real trouble. Above Arsenal, Ravs grunts. 

Something warm and wet splashes across Arsenal’s head and when he turns, Ravs is clutching his razed arm, his usually handsome face contorted in the building rage that afflicted Goliaths. He moves to leap from the turret.

“Ravs!” Arsenal swerves, jostling Ravs back towards him. “Hey, Daltos, could use some help back here!”

Daltos finishes raking his target with gunfire. A distinct crunching noise announces that the technical hassling him is done for, when it runs into a boulder). He slaps Minty’s shoulder, letting her know that he’s occupied. She acknowledges him with a grunt, leaning over to cover him.

Emperor in hand, Daltos hitches onto the back of the turret, leaning up to look right at Ravs. Arsenal turns his head to face the road and all the threats making his radar look like it’s a spiderant hive of activity. For the ninth time, he wishes he had reinforcements at his disposal.

He blinks. Through the dust up ahead, a piece of metal’s rising to form a ramp. A green runway forms before it, flashing arrows pointing right at the jump. The jump connects a moat and a giant, massive metal pair of doors.

“Aim for the ramp!” His ECHO device instructs, the voice pinched in concentration.

Another spray of gunfire from the side slams into the technical's hood. The dashboard lights up, letting him know that the engines have just about carked it. 

Arsenal raps his knuckles against the turret compartment in the private signal to ‘fucking hold on’. Ravs is hanging on already, struggling to contain his rage. Arsenal has no idea about Daltos and Minty. With thirty seconds before the engines take them with it, Arsenal thumbs the nitro burst.

The technical hits the ramp dead centre. Arsenal has no control left from the moment the technical front wheels touch the mysterious green pad. With the ramp in front, nitro burst pouring on speed faster than a ravenous skag spotting a dead carcass, the pad catapults the four into the air.

He should have shouted something cheesy, like ‘hope you had your seatbelts on’. Arsenal screams as the metal doors swing towards him; it closes as the technical’s tail lights blink between its edges, clearing the treacherous obstacle.

Because gravity’s a right real force and a kick to the teeth, the technical flips upon landing. He’s thrown out (kind of like in the manner Ravs uses on all the drunkards who can can insist on holding one more despite swaying on the spot). The ground meets him, dragging him across it until he’s sprawled on his back, panting and his heart practically hanging out of his mouth.

He got lucky; his shield’s been munching on the rounds shot his way, chewing and spitting them into his ammo reserves. Arsenal turns his head to see the extent of the damage.

Well, there’s no way that the technical’s going to make a return trip, flipped on its side, flames licking at it underneath the ruined hood. Two bandits are frantically extinguishing it with fire extinguishers. The two bandits look like scavengers, all loose clothing, goggled, save for the enormous pouches and tool belts tied around their waist.

“Got it!” One crows, tossing the drained fire extinguisher aside. Arsenal watches the fire extinguisher join an even larger pile of identical ones. He opens his mouth. For the first time, he notices the immense room he’s in.

It’s a giant scrapyard, the biggest one he’s ever stepped in. The roof is made out of downed ship material, crude studs and beams propping it up in random places, a random network of chains, tape and welded bars keeping the entire sheet from falling down on the two bandits’ heads.

One bandit’s crouching to check Minty, who’s curled on her side, eyes shut. Her hat’s fallen onto the ground by her head, blonde hair strewn around like a halo. Arsenal scrambles onto his front, feeling for his digistruct module. Before the bandit can touch her, she’s got a pistol pointed at their crotch.

“The hat’s off-limits.” Minty scoops up her hat, dropping it onto her head. She squints at the bandit, who works their jaw like they’re chewing a grass stalk.

“Oh shit, I didn’t realise you’d be bringing her!” The bandit observes, in an awed tone. Their buddy’s prodding the technical, frowning at the dead engines.

That’s not what Minty expected. Arsenal’s on his feet, drawing his own gun. “Leave her alone or I cap you!”

“Chill!” The bandit by her waves both empty hands at him. “We’re friendlies! Siebel told us you were swinging by!”

“Blohm and Voss, right?” Arsenal inquires. “This your hideout?”

“It’s our workshop,” corrects the bandit straightening up by the technical. “Your ride’s carked it, ‘fraid there ain’t anything we can do. Whose ride is it?”

“Mine,” Minty says. “It’s fine, I’ve been meaning to nick another one from Ravs–where’s Ravs?”

Arsenal pulls off some quick calculations. Daltos and Ravs should have rolled this way. In theory, at least. He ducks behind the suspected scrap pile. Ravs is letting Daltos bandage his arm while giving him the kind of adoring smile that Minty gives Arsenal when he’s been a  _ very _ good boy.

“I’m disappointed I didn’t find you two in a compromising position,” Arsenal drawls, stowing his gun in his module. He keeps the relief at finding the two in one piece off his face, opting for a friendly grin.

“Fuck off,” Daltos snaps. He dusts his hands off, moving past Arsenal. The rough landing hasn’t improved his mood, nor had the provoked chase through the dry grasslands.

Ravs gets up after him. “It’s a pity you weren’t around when we landed, it’s the only time he’ll ever top.” His exaggerated sigh earns a glare from Daltos. “What? It’s the truth.”

Ignoring him, Daltos glances at the two bandits. Minty hasn’t shot the bandits, waiting for him to proceed with a cocked eyebrow.

“Which one of you’s Blohm?” Daltos strides over to the grubber of the two bandits watching him.

“Me!” Blohm says, pointing to themself. They thrust a hand out. Daltos eyes the rust streaked hand. He gingerly takes it, shaking it. “Boy, do we have a beaut of a surprise for you!”

“What surprise?”

“Siebel mentioned you wanted some of these,” Voss swaggers over to a wall with a chain hooked up to its frame. All their pouches clink, even after they’ve stopped to grunt, tugging on the chain. “We’ve been busy getting these bad boys prepped for a fight!”

The rolling metal door parts to reveal a factory chamber. A volt of Buzzards await.

“What say we take them for a test spin?” Daltos proposes with a smirk, turning to his three companions. He nods at Blohm and Voss. “If these are good, I’ll take about fifty of them.”

Voss laughs, slapping their knee. “You want  _ fifty _ of these? We got about a hundred more hidden in the other bays!”

“Honestly, it’s a riot, we keep finding faults–”

“They’ll mostly fly, except for the versions with the blades–”

“Those were the prototypes but they hold up about as well as a technical, compared to version twenty-eight, which were-”

“Alright, we’ll talk about payment later,” Daltos interrupts.

“We don’t want payment!” Blohm shoots him an astonished look. “We just want you to keep those bloody bastards from blowing our front door up–”

“And we’ll make you all the toys you want!” Voss leans on a wall, grin maniacal.

Arsenal can already see the gears turning in Daltos’ mind in regards to this surprise, plus Siebel getting a territory of their very own.

\--

#####  **the girl who shot the varkid’s nest**

Today, I met a girl with a shit gun, long hair, and a flying rakk that could absolutely rip my face off! I just sang all that by the way, and I’d like to think that my voice can carry a sweet tune. All that practice in the shower’s finally paying off. 

I should try serenading Minty sometime. She’d like that. She’d probably like that. She’d probably like that, a lot. I’m just full of amazing ideas.

But yeah, this girl. She’s a little mean. I said ‘hi’ and she just glared at me. I can’t draw people for the love of me, but here is a drawing of her. Don’t laugh, I spent half an hour on it. That's half an hour I could have spent napping. 

I’m also pretty sure I wasn’t making faces at her or anything. And if I did, that was me attempting to smile.

I don’t usually talk to outsiders but I couldn’t resist. She’s got a pretty good aim, except she could use some help. I’m pretty sure I could teach her how to shoot, but I don’t think she’d let me help her.

The need to feed my gang outweighs one person’s judgement of me for being a bandit.

Gotta thank Ravs for giving me the coordinates of the hunting ground.

\--

I DID IT, I’M FRIENDS WITH HER. HER NAME IS ‘LOMADIA’ AND I LOVE HER ALREADY.

\--

#####  **how to train your rakk**

Turns out, rakks can divebomb on command. They can also knock a fully grown dude off his feet, if he’s holding onto a bit of meat they really want. 

All I know is that rakks are tasty. Lomadia (that’s her name!) doesn’t agree. She believes that they're horrible to eat. I demonstrated to her how she can cook a rakk until it’s edible. She didn’t say anything else, but I liked how she gave me a look of ‘shut up, you’re right’.

We traded recipes. I’m going to have to ask people for recipes so I can share them with Lomadia. 

Lomadia also talked about rakk biology but that shit flies over my head (pun not intended) so I won’t bother noting that all down here because I’ll get things wrong and then you’ll laugh at me. It’s nice how she doesn’t laugh at me whenever I ask stupid questions. I showed her a bit about how to fix a technical, plus all these other random things I could think of, like how to unstuck a jammed gun, dealing with rabid skags. You know, life on Pandora things.

I ain’t trying to impress her, I’m just teaching her useful skills that might help her in the long run. I know she can’t stay around forever, and if anything happened to her, I’ll–this was about to get real depressing.

She’s my friend.

\--

#####  **punch club**

Ravs handed over his place to Daltos this morning. He says he’s headed off to run an arena out east. I dunno what he’s thinking, but good for him? He wouldn’t elaborate on why he’s going. He’s still interested in seeing Daltos so Daltos is pretty happy about that.

Minty tried to distract me while we were visiting Ravs’ arena. Do you know what she did? She stuffed a ration bar into her cleavage. I had a bit of a lie down because I couldn’t work out whether or not to eat her, or the ration bar.

I told her I could only have one dessert per day. She got offended and thinks that she’s definitely a dessert and should be picked over the stupid bar. A five minute debate raged. I ain’t ashamed to say that I lost.

Later, Minty told Daltos that I already ate. When he asked, Minty told him I ate her. He just walked off. Trolling him’s never going to get old.

Sometimes, I wonder if there’s an actual limit to how much trolling I can do.

Ravs’ arena is making a fair bit. I won about a hundred dollars in bets. I have no idea what to spend it on. I think I’ll buy a premium ration subscription and split it with Minty, Ravs and Daltos. They’ll like that.

\--

#####  **why i wore lipstick to my battle**

“What’s this?” Arsenal uncaps the slim, metal tube he’d pulled from one of her drawers in his search for spare rags. It smells of sunfruit, sweet and ripe, vaguely dusty. A red tower’s revealed when the cap’s popped off.

Minty glances over, perking up. “That’s lipstick.” She plucks it from his hand. “I ain’t seen this in ages. I’m surprised it’s still alive, actually.”

“Why do you have lipstick?” Arsenal sniffs it. “Smells nice.”

“Used to wear it for fancy occasions.” She shrugs. “You want it?”

“I don’t got a use for makeup but sure, if you’re giving it to me…”

“Lemme try something.” She lopes from the bed to stand in front of him, hand feeling along his jaw. Minty’s shorter than him by a head or so, so he has to lean down. “Hold still.” 

Arsenal can feel a weird smoothness travel across his lips, coating them in a thick, pasty layer. Her hand is steady as she paints, the corner of her mouth quirking in concentration.

Minty caps the lipstick when she’s done. With an approving him, she surveys her handiwork, gently tilting his face left and right. Grinning, she reaches for a mirror shard so he can see the latest addition to his face. “I got an idea.”

“What is it? And hey, I don’t look half bad. It kind of matches my scars.” He admires himself in the mirror, a hand stroking his chin.

“That’s the spirit.” She tucks the lipstick tube into the front pocket of his jacket. “Come on, let’s get you back to the frigate.”

\--

In the mess hall, Ravs succumbs to his fate with immense pleasure; Minty leaves a visible mark on his cheek. Her next and last victim is upstairs, in the war room, busy wrapping up a meeting. Arsenal and Ravs hover in the doorway, pretending to converse as Minty moves in for the kill.

He doesn’t register her as a threat in spite of knowing that she’s entered the room, possibly occupied with his thoughts. Using the moment, Minty’s hands find the collar to his jacket, dragging him from the table to press him against an edge.

“Fuck off, Minty, go play with Arsenal or Ravs,” Daltos snaps, trying to shrug her off. A decisive yank forces him down to eye level with her.

“That’s no way to speak to your ally.”

“How should I speak to you, then?”

“It’s  _ ma’am _ ,” Minty promptly reminds. “You’ve forgotten. Let’s fix that.” She removes the distance between them with a tilt of her head.

A well-timed shove sends her back. “What the fuck?”

“Relax, it’s not poison.” Laughing, she wipes her mouth, letting him see the messy smear of red across her palm.

“This is  _ lipstick _ .” Disgusted, Daltos raises a hand to get rid of the red shit sticking to his face and mouth. 

“Don’t go rubbing it off, or you’ll be in  _ big  _ trouble.” With a wink, Minty boops Daltos on the nose, turning on her heel and striding off to prepare for the battle. He lowers his hand, daring Ravs and Arsenal to say something. The other two shake their heads.

\--

#####  **the girl with the bandit tattoo**

You’ll never guess what happened today: Minty got a tattoo of me done. A  _ tattoo _ . Of me! On her arm! I forget which arm, but I spent about an hour getting sketched by one of her dudes. Feels good to sit around in my underwear doing nothing.

She spent about two hours getting the ink done; she said it didn’t hurt but that’s a fucking lie. I held her hand and it was amazeballs. Aside from the pain of having my hand almost broken by her, it was worth it. Anybody who says that handholding sucks can go and stick their head into a grinder. I’ll even give them a helping shove.

I’m working on my own sketch of her. The best place for it is going to be on the back of my shield, the Sham. Once I have the perfect sketch, I’m going to transfer it onto my bod. Dunno where yet, but maybe my arm? It’s cheesy but I’m going to match her.

Dead Worker’s Party has the most incredible tattoo artists. They deserve a lot of mad respect; Cant got the gang’s logo done in about four hours,  _ and _ mostly sat still during it. Everybody’s admiring it. 

It kind of makes sense for the tattoo, since Cant never wears a jacket and we all know who Cant is and what side they’re on, but uh, we’ve had a few friendly fire incidents from accidentally shooting at them as we’re still working off the murder vibe. Whoops. Fortunately, Cant has one of the best shields we could build. By who? Yeah, that’s right, me.

I can still hear Ravs trying to convince Daltos to pose for a sketch. He wants one of those sexy tattoos, like one of those old pin-ups. Daltos keeps saying ‘no’. Maybe he’s hoping Daltos will say ‘yes’ when he lets his guard down. I wouldn’t mind seeing that tattoo when it’s done. 

Ravs is getting a little heart done on his collarbone, if Daltos doesn’t want to pose. I should get one of Ravs done too, actually. It’ll go next to Minty’s one.

Us bandits, we don’t do things by halves when it comes to the people we really like, that’s for sure.

\--

#####  **water for bandits**

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Daltos: I see you figured out how to move the couch.

Ravs: No more sending me to sleep on the couch whenever we fight, which you keep putting in stupid places in the frigate! I ended up on the roof yesterday!

Daltos: Blame Arsenal, he put the couch in my room in the first place. Did you sleep well?

Ravs: I didn’t even sleep! Arsenal was nice enough to let me crash in his bed.

Daltos: Heh. Serves you right.

Ravs: That’s it, I’m not shifting this couch.

Daltos: Can you at least move the couch out of the doorway? I need to go and get something to eat. 

Ravs: How about you ‘make me’ move the couch?

Daltos: ...Be right back.

Ravs: What’s that?

Daltos: ...

Ravs: ...You shot me with a water pistol.

Daltos: -is laughing too hard to be coherent-

Ravs: Come here!

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Arsenal: Do you think they’re having fun, dear?

MintyMinute: Oh absolutely, they’re having a smashing time–Daltos just shot my hat off. Honey, it’s time to show them that they’re about to get wrecked.

Arsenal: You can wreck them just fine without me–RAVS! FUCK YOU AND YOUR WATER BALLOONS, IT’S FUCKING WAR.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

MintyMinute: Daltos, your frigate’s roof is the best for drying out.

Daltos: You’re welcome.

Ravs: This is nice.

Arsenal: So, who would win in a wet-shirt contest?

Ravs: Me, obviously.

Arsenal: You never wear a shirt.

Ravs: That’s exactly why I’d win.

MintyMinute: I got a great rack.

Arsenal: You always got a great rack.

MintyMinute: Aw, you.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Daltos: Arsenal, move.

Arsenal: Not until you give me the secret code.

Daltos: What code?

Arsenal: No code, no entry to the bandit party.

Daltos: I don’t need a code to get in.

Arsenal: Then no drinks.

Daltos: …

Arsenal: Come on, I sent it to you yesterday.

Daltos: That was the code?

Arsenal: Yeah! It was pretty important! That’s why I sent it in a proper envelope and everything!

Daltos: I can’t believe you wasted stationary on such a stupid task.

Arsenal: Which you burned. I saw you.

Daltos: It didn’t look important!

Arsenal: But you did read it, so you have to know it.

Daltos: …

Arsenal: Say it.

Daltos: No.

Arsenal: Then you get no drinks!

Daltos: ...Minty is a DD cup.

Arsenal: That wasn’t so hard, was it?

Daltos: Can I get drunk now?

Arsenal: Of course you can! Also, I’m just fucking with you, there’s no code to enter the party.

Daltos: Forget about the party, let’s start one of our own, right here, right now.

Arsenal: Pass!

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

#####  **same time, same year**

Arado nears the room that’s Daltos’, settling at their usual guard post. This is where they usually wait for him. It’s about time for Daltos to wake up; he disappeared from the lower levels and the bridge to go take a midday nap. The advantage of this spot is that Arado can keep watch of whoever’s approaching from both corridors, as well as having a corner hide them.

The telltale whoosh of a door sliding open tips Arado off. They peek around the corner, ready to intercept Daltos. It’s not him, it’s Ravs. Everybody knows that Ravs is going steady with him, even if Daltos pretends otherwise.

Ravs winks and waves at whoever’s still in the room, heading off in the opposite direction with a spring in his step. That’s nothing new; bandits crashed in each other’s bunks all the time. It’s a double bonus if said bandits have that sort of ‘arrangement’.

Daltos can’t be far behind if Ravs is leaving. Arado glances back when the door slides open for the second time. They keep their mouth shut.

Arsenal snaps off a mock salute, laughing as he jogs off after Ravs. Well, isn’t that interesting. Arado decides to keep these observations to themself. Threeways aren’t unusual; they’re certainly trickier to manage, messy to clean up if the dynamic fails to persist, but doable. Again, it’s not any of Arado’s business to play snitch or gossip starter.

The third opening of the door is a surprise. Minty herself saunters through the doorway, adjusting her hat, smoking of Daltos’ smokes. She flips the bird, chuckling to herself, spurs clinking with every confident step as she makes her way downstairs. 

Arado presses themself against the wall until the sound of her footsteps have died. Everybody stays out of her way. She’s already killed five bandits for crossing the invisible line that pops up whenever she’s around. Trouble is, she’s always changing said line; one idle remark can earn a laugh. That same remark on another day could be turned into a kick to the rear.

Fifteen minutes later, Daltos leaves his room for real, running his fingers through his hair and adjusting his jacket. Arado forgets about the report, slinking off elsewhere before they can cross paths with him.

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

Hawker: Hey, here’s Desperado!

Hurricane: Mate, you look a little down.

Bucker: Have a drink. It’s on the house.

Hawker: That’s just water, you ass.

Bucker: Yeah, but it’s  _ free _ water.

Arado: I have looked into the void and the void looked back.

Hawker: Yeah, yeah, you want a sandwich or not, man?

Arsenal: Arado, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.

Arado: Excuse me, I have to go and shit a brick.

Arsenal: Huh, what’s up with them?

Hawker: What’s up with your jacket?

Arsenal: Oh, I ain’t wearing it. I ain’t wearing my bandolier either.

Hurricane: But you love that jacket!

Arsenal: Yeah, I’d still pull someone’s eyeballs out of their sockets if they stole my jacket, but no, Minty’s wearing it.

Bucker: Here she comes.

Arsenal: My dear! Sit next to me. Shove off, Hawker.

Hawker: Budge up, bro.

Hurricane: Budging up.

Hawker: Budged up.

Hurricane: Budger, budger, budger, budger, budger-

Hawker: Budger, budger, budger, budger, budge-

Buckers: ...Mothballs.

Hawker: …

Hurricane: …

Arsenal: …

MintyMinute: …

Bucker: …

– / / SKIPPING AHEAD OF INCOHERENT LAUGHTER. / / –

MintyMinute: So, where’d your bandolier go?

Arsenal: Ravs has it. I’d take his jacket, but it’s two sizes too large for me.

Ravs: Nothing’s ever too large for you, Arsenal.

Arsenal: Ay! Here’s my man.

MintyMinute: If you start singing ‘budger, budger, mothballs’ again, I’m going to shove my drink up your weiner.

Hawker: We’ll be quiet!

Hurricane: Starting right now, in fact.

Hawker: Yeah–mmph.

MintyMinute: Good boys.

Ravs: I like your new jacket.

MintyMinute: Aw, thank you, I got it for free. By the way, smoochums, you forgot to take this with you.

Arsenal: You’re letting me wear your hat!

MintyMinute: It’s all yours, until I want it back.

Arsenal: I’ll take special care of it.

Ravs: Hang on, is that Daltos’ jacket?

MintyMinute: Nope, it’s Arsenal’s.

Ravs: Too bad I don’t have much clothing for you to borrow.

Arsenal: I could always borrow your kilt.

Ravs: You’d probably look good in it.

MintyMinute: Anybody would look good in your kilt.

Ravs: I know of one person who definitely does, and it’s not me.

Arsenal: ...And you didn’t think to call us up to see it?

Ravs: You didn’t hear it from me.

Arado: Aight, I’m back...never mind, I think I still got a brick left in me.

Arsenal: Hi, bye!

Ravs: Is your lieutenant alright?

Arsenal: Upset tummy, probably.

MintyMinute: Does anybody have any smokes? I left all mine with Daltos.

Arsenal: Here you go, my lascivious cake. Hold my seat, I’m getting a coffee.

MintyMinute: Thank you, my darling patootie.

Ravs: What happened to your belt?

MintyMinute: Somebody’s borrowing it.

Ravs: Who’s got it?

MintyMinute: Who else do you think?

Daltos: If you’re looking for your belt, it’s right here.

MintyMinute: It looks good on you. Also, I never noticed, but you’re not as hairy as Ravs is.

Daltos: Nobody’s hairier than Ravs.

Ravs: Hey now, don’t flash the entire mess hall. Save something for me.

Daltos: I’m just flashing you. You’re welcome. Now I got to go before Arsenal–

Arsenal: Dicks out for Daltos!

Hawker: Dicks out for dad!

Hurricane: Dicks out for dad!

Cant: Cant!

Bucker: Dicks out for dad!

Klemm: Dicks out for dad! Fieseler also says ‘dicks out for dad’.

Heinkel: MEAT STICK OUT FOR THE PATRIARCH.

Dornier: Dicks out for the dick–FUCK OFF, HAWKER.

Gotha: Dicks. Out. For. Dad.

Daltos: ...Arsenal, please go and fucking choke on a stinging cactus.

Arsenal: Only if it’s yours, daddy.

Ravs: -is laughing too hard to be coherent-

MintyMinute: Fucking–holy shit, I nearly swallowed my cigarette.

Daltos:  _ Why _ do you do this every single time I enter the mess hall?

Arsenal: Just  _ because _ .

Ravs: Should we let them just brawl it out?

MintyMinute: I got five dollars on Arsenal!

Arsenal: Harder, daddy!

– / / END OF ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

#####  **war of the clans**

In the center of her bandit stronghold, Minty eyes up the dead carcass hammered to a stake. Beside her, Hollie and the rest of her bandits fidget, waiting for her reaction. 

Minty uncaps a bottle of rakk ale, chugging it. A lone drop runs down her chin, dripping past her shirt. It sizzles as it hits the ground. The midday sun is murder; a light sheen of sweat slicks her back, chest and arms.

“Well, no use in crying about it, I suppose.” Minty lobs the bottle into the bin, where it shatters. Her boots crunch on pebbles crusted over with dried skag blood. 

She reaches up, tugging the collar of the poor, headless skag that’d only been happily chasing technicals three days ago. A card’s slipped out. Minty’s eyes take in the ‘UR’RE NETX’ threat scribbled on it.

“Oh, Arsenal,” She sighs, and Hollie doesn’t know if she’s referring to the dead skag or who it’s named after. She digs up her ECHO device from the depths of her inventory, beginning a three-way call. Arsenal picks up, as with Ravs. Daltos is with Arsenal. The other three sound incredibly pissed.

“This is some fucked up shit!” Ravs bellows. “Daltos is barely alive! I got him down in time, but I don’t think he’ll ever be the same again! They wrapped some barbed wire around his chest to keep him pinned!”

It’s a sign of how furious Arsenal is that he doesn’t crack a joke about whether Ravs is talking about actual Daltos or the skag sharing the name. “Anybody got the calling card of which sick, twisted fucker did this?”

“Yeah, they left a card, alright.” Minty gestures for Hollie and her lot to start disassembling the stake and the corpse. “At least three clans who were at the wedding you ruined.”

“Fuck their wedding, their booze was shit, you’d think permanently barring me from the murder death rally was enough!” Arsenal snaps. “Ravs the skag is high on painkillers now. Klemm’s getting the rest of the nails out. Good thing he’s a tough bastard to kill.” He mostly stops sounding so pissed in the next part. “Minty, what about the last one?”

“The little guy didn’t make it,” Minty reports, after a beat. The stake creaks as it’s ripped from the ground by Hollie.

There’s silence across the call. It’s broken by Arsenal, who chokes. “Minty, I’m so sorry.”

“Minty,” Ravs starts, clearly sounding more worried than pissed off. The two of them are so concerned about her.

“It was just a skag.” Minty sits down on the chair that one of her lieutenants has lugged over for her. “On the bright side, it’d explain why I came home one day and my skags were gone.”

“We thought they went on a joyride with the other skags,” Arsenal tries to joke.

“Too bad that joyride ended badly,” Ravs says, darkly.

“What did I miss?” Daltos’ voice joins in.

“Any news?”

“Yeah. We’re officially at war with my other neighbors.” Daltos laughs. “I just got a skag head in an icebox.”

\--

Arsenal stands before the battlefield. As the challenger, Daltos didn’t have the luxury of picking the location, so any strategy he’s figured out is based on upending a volt of Buzzards to play scouts. Some clans considered this to be unsporting behaviour, checking out what’s in store beforehand; Daltos props it up with his battle record, boasting a landslide of many victories marred only by a few, minor losses.

No other clan thinks so tactically; Daltos might have only been with Dahl for several years, but it’s left its mark on him in several ways. In a way, Dahl shaped him despite trying to erase its presence. Arsenal touches his forehead, rubbing at the previous rank once embedded there.

A sprawling, peaceful grassland rustles before his, Daltos, Minty and Ravs’ combined forces. It’s a shame that grassland won’t exist after an encounter between warring clans.

Behind Daltos, his lieutenants are marshalling their respective forces into position. Arsenal’s sitting on the hood of a technical stripped of all excess weight; it’s purely used to transport bandits on and off the battlefield. Daltos uses it to run last minute checks and reports.

If the conversation between him and Minty is any indication, all of them are just waiting for the other side to show up so the war can begin.

It’s overcast. Rainclouds haven’t yet spilled over the sky, dawdling their purpose. While it’s not a predicted storm, nervous anticipation, fear, excitement and the pent-up emotions of the force behind Arsenal forms it own unique atmosphere.

Arsenal double-checks his shield, ammo stocks and guns, as restless as Cant is. Cant’s pacing circles back and forth, shoulder harness bearing Short Stirling (the gang’s newest recruit). The miniature Goliath’s managed to make a hilarious strategy of riding Cant’s shoulder into battle, covering them on the side with the permanently broken arm.

He slides off the technical hood, striding through the makeshift camp. For some reason, not a single Buzzard is in sight. Is this battle going to be purely ground-based?

“What’s taking them so long?”

“You’d think they’d learn to be on time, my show starts at…”

“POLAR CAPS!”

“Paper beats rock! Fuck yeah, I get the turret!”

“Alright, but aliens, do you believe in them?”

“Vaults! What a bunch of tosh, you’ll never find me risking my neck for a Vault Hunter.”

Bits of conversation follow Arsenal about. At the back of the camp, he finds Ravs and Daltos. The two are hidden behind a designated tent due to receive the wounded (or the dead). Klemm’s off elsewhere so Arsenal slips in, about to ask if the two are ready to go. 

The way Daltos and Ravs have their voices lowered pins Arsenal to the spot. This is not a conversation he should be interrupting.

“Neither of us is going to die,” Daltos firmly says.

“You’ve never fought a battle this large before!” Ravs argues, keeping his voice low in spite of the underlying worry.

“It’s like any other battle. It’s just on a bigger scale.” Daltos’ dismissive tone rankles Ravs, judging by his next response.

“I still think I should be next to you!”

“Ravs, your gang’s demolitions and full of heavies. I need you to cover Arsenal’s lot or he’ll get shredded.” The logical argument doesn’t faze Ravs.

“Daltos, he’s got other people watching his back! Nobody’s watching yours!”

“I can watch my own back…stop it, don’t look at me like that.”

“I’ll look at you however the fuck I want,” Ravs growls.

“You know I can’t look at you like that,” Daltos says, his voice the quietest it’s ever been.

“That doesn’t matter.” A beat in the conversation is filled with Daltos’ breath hitching, plus the scraping of Ravs’ boots. It’s over, after a few seconds. Ravs steps away, a lingering hand on Daltos’ arm (puppeted by their shadows through the tent canvas). “I’ll find you, I swear.” 

It’s the sweetest promise Arsenal’s ever heard a bandit make (not counting ‘I won’t steal your booze while you’re off taking a leak’). He can’t see Daltos’ face, but Daltos must look surprised or thrown off, because Ravs laughs, softly, removing his hand.

The two part. Arsenal lets Daltos have a thirty second window before he jogs up behind him. “There you are!” He pretends that he hasn’t eavesdropped, feigning being out of breath. “You missed out on the battle chants!”

“Arsenal.” Daltos doesn’t seem to be as ruffled as Arsenal thought he’d be. “How’s preparations?”

“We’re just about ready,” Arsenal informs. He’s not going to ask about the private moment, respecting what two people need to carve out for themselves before the danger becomes too much, and it becomes too late.

“Let’s go.” Daltos arrives at the front of the force. Fog is rolling in from the lower lands, providing a thin cover.

He doesn’t give speeches; bandits didn’t put much stock into that sort of formal, long-winded bullshit. Everybody already knows the reason for fighting or makes up their own. All Daltos asks is that it aligns with his common goal of making the east coast all his.

This made more bandits than anybody had ever thought possible join him. It certainly gave Arsenal one convincing reason to stick with him. 

The enemy’s gathering on the other side of the grasslands. Minty reports in; her snipers have spotted further forces stashed beyond the hills. For now, the bulk numbers on their side guarantees victory. In theory.

Arsenal looks up at the clouds. Anything could happen. Anything.

The other side sends up a red flare, the mutually agreed upon signal to start. Daltos gestures to respond with the appropriate signal. Dornier ‘Spitfire’ lights up a firework, being the flashy bugger they are. A couple of bandits ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ as the sparks burn in the sky, soon fading.

Like a match being struck, just like that, the battle is on. Arsenal and Daltos occupy one technical, riding in the back. It seems like Daltos has taken Ravs’ advice to heart, tagging along after Arsenal than lead his own unit.

Both sides course down the hills, bandits in vehicles taking up the lead to carve out the bloody road for the inevitable collision–Arsenal’s driver whoops as the first casualty dies from having a technical’s wheel crush their skull.

Arsenal will never be able to describe the noise. He’s been in battles before but as Daltos told Ravs, this one’s scaled up by a factor of ten.

Gunfire explodes all around Arsenal, deafening and amping up the adrenaline kick. The technical plunges right into the chaotic fray, Arsenal and Daltos doing their best to spread harm, covering their turret master and driver.

Behind the technicals follow infantry, mopping up whatever the technicals have not intimidated, run over or scored. The rest of the forces itch, screaming from their perches. All of them have restraint, waiting for Daltos to give the order to surge forwards.

Their driver blares the horn to avoid a friendly collision; the other technical’s driver chuckles, flipping the bird before steering off. Arsenal loses count of how many bodies he drops, focusing on firing, reloading and so forth. It’s all automatic at this point, a routine so familiar that he doesn’t have to think twice about the motions.

A loose grenade slips in under a wheel, rattling under the technical. Their driver screams an order to evacuate. Arsenal and Daltos leap off, along with the two. The four hit the ground, the technical exploding as it ploughs past a unit of warring bandits, blue clashing with red, orange and greens.

Arsenal is on his feet, helping Daltos up. Their driver’s shaking off the damage, sprinting off to find their buddy, screaming their name. Daltos glances at Arsenal, the sight of his eyes striking Arsenal. 

People would have waxed poetic about this moment. There’s should have been a fire lit, burning with the need for conquest. There’s just a cold hardness devoid of fear, and the determination to finish this fight, even if death indiscriminately flows across the grasslands, taking what it can and marking others.

“Come on!” Daltos is running, trying to flag down a friendly technical. 

Wherever he goes, Arsenal follows. On foot, the danger’s magnified a hundredfold. Anything can happen. His pre-battle thought returns to haunt him. Blood rushing in his ears, Arsenal clutches his gun to his chest, sprinting after Daltos.

They need to get back up to the hill, if there’s no technicals still running amok. Daltos is shouting orders through, a hand raised to his ear, when gunfire explodes behind him. He turns, dropping the call as Arsenal raises his own gun, depressing the trigger.

Swearing, Arsenal falls back; the gunfire slams into him like a dense hellfire, shoving him back. He can’t see Daltos, can’t hear him, the radar is useless when he can’t tell visually friend from foe. An enemy bandit screams in his face, bounding at him from out of nowhere.

Arsenal pierces the bandit in the neck with his rifle’s bayonet, decapitating them. He intercepts a stab, punching the offender in the face, swinging to fire into someone’s chest. Another hellfire knocks him off his feet, along with a grenade. His shield cuts out, giving up the last of his protection.

He slams into the ground, sprawling out, panting and gasping, the strap of his gun digging into his shoulder. A technical nearly lands on him, wheels skidding as it tears off, bucking wildly. Clods of depressed ground mark its landing. The bandits scatter as the technical spins.

Arsenal sits up, picking up his gun. “Daltos!” He shouts, not ashamed of the fear he’s feeling, because if he can’t see him, he has to be alive, but he could also be dead and he’s all that Arsenal has left on Pandora–pain, like a skag ripping his leg apart downs him.

He’s also dimly aware that liquid is soaking his left leg. It’s not piss, that’s for sure, this is far warmer, and thicker than the other shit. Arsenal gasps, one hand going to his leg. It’s covered in blood. It’s definitely blood, gushing out from a hole, the white flash of bone and muscle punching him in the throat.

“Daltos!” He shouts again. There’s no hint of reassuring blue around him, merely the browns, red and sickly yellow of green, coupled with the other clans’ colors spreading out.

Two bandits, clearly lieutenants, casually pick their way over to him. One’s dragging a dead bandit by the hair. It’s not one of Arsenal’s unit. “Looks like we got a live one,” They drawl. The necklace of finger bones on their leather pauldrons click. “Did you like our gift to your gangs?”

“Fuck off, I ain’t dead yet!” Arsenal manages to snarl. He lets gravity maneuver him onto his back, gun trained on the one stepping towards him. The barrel of his gun shakes. The pain is worsening, spreading, the adrenaline in his body trying to fend it off before it makes him completely useless.

A flash of red tartan behind the lieutenants is ignored. Arsenal tries to back up, scrambling against the flattened grass that’s all slippery with blood. His damaged leg drags along the ground, hitting every single rock it can find. He continues to stare down his attackers, who laugh at his sorry, failed retreat.

One lifts a shotgun, grinning. Familiar hands plunge out of the fog to snatch the gun away, tossing it aside. Those same hands wrench the bandit towards them.

Ravs shove their eyeballs out of the back of their head with his thumbs, blinding them. Well, not exactly out of the back of their head, just squashes them. A sniper shot finishes them; it has Minty’s loving touch written all over it.

Daltos shoves his bladed pistol into the other lieutenant’s neck, slicing sideways. They barely have time to gasp. He flicks his pistol free of blood, leaning down to help Arsenal up.

“Can you walk?” Daltos asks.

“Sorry, I’m out, I can’t do shit.” Arsenal’s face is streaming tears, because Daltos hasn’t realised it yet, hasn’t looked at Arsenal’s leg; Arsenal has a second to see his stunned face before Arsenal gathers the rest of his weight to force the two of them down. Ravs dives in the opposite direction.

With Daltos trapped beneath him, four legs thunder past on top of where they’d been. Arsenal stares, open-mouthed at the rakk hive with a bunch of bandits hanging out of the leather harness strapped to its back. The bandits turn to open fire on the three. 

An explosive barrel lands dead center, throwing out the bandits and enraging the rakk hive. A technical blunders off, the friendly bandits shouting to get its attention. One wounded bandit’s propped up in the back, bandaged head lolling back and forth. The rakk hive charges after the vehicle, the two disappearing into the mist.

The ground splits. More rakk hives stampede out of the mist, goaded by their riders and passengers. These must be the forces Minty’s gang spotted but hadn’t been able to damage.

“Move!” Ravs grabs Arsenal and Daltos, lifting them onto their feet.

“Ravs! Where are you going?” Daltos shouts, grabbing Arsenal to haul him into a shoulder carry before he can fall.

“To put down mines and find that shield–fuck!” Ravs’ response is lost as a series of rallying cries from the enemy drown him out. Arsenal doesn’t get the chance to shout for Ravs to retreat with them.

Daltos sprints, darting around obstacles, flipped machines, dodging rakk hives and enemies alike. Arsenal’s thumping heartbeat matches his. Every jostle and step is a painful jab to his leg and back. His gun bounces along his arm, bayonet slicing empty air.

He wants to tell Daltos to put him down, forget about him,  _ turn back _ , there’s a battle still going, he’s not worth risking a retreat, but Daltos keeps carrying him, back to safe lines, his breathing growing more ragged and harsher with every metre. This is going to cost the both of them their lives, if Daltos doesn’t drop him right this fucking second.

He can hear Daltos ordering a retreat. Heart sinking, Arsenal clutches his arm. “Put me down,” He weakly says. 

“No,” Daltos snaps. “You’re coming with me.”

“I’m not worth it!” Arsenal insists.

“You are!” Daltos shouts, his voice strained. “Is everyone clear of the drop zone?” Whatever response he gets, he snaps back, “I’m here, do it!” Arsenal feels the physical strain along Daltos’ back as Daltos clears the grasslands in the nick of time.

Explosions throw him off his feet, along with Arsenal. The two flip themselves onto their backs, watching a volt of Buzzards swoop by overhead.

“Take that, you pink assed pieces of shit!” Hawker’s war cry precedes another series of explosions, courtesy of the Buzzards’ new drop system. 

“Let them have it!” Hurricane shrieks. They follow Hawker’s course, a second round of carpet bombs following up; rakks stream out from the rakk hives, attacking the Buzzards.

A third volt of Buzzards move in, Dornier cackling as the two bandits hanging off the side of their aircraft hitch up flamethrowers, moving to cover prone Buzzards. Siebel brings in a fourth volt, their bandits armed with guns.

The rest of Daltos’ forces emerge on the other side of the battleground. Bucker ECHOs a successful ambush, unleashing the remainder of the Blitzkrieg Blighters upon a swearing enemy.

The battle’s theirs. 

Arsenal turns his head. Daltos has his eyes closed, Emperor vanishing in his hand. The long grass whispers against his blue jacket–and the obvious wound on his side smears the blades with crimson.

“Hey, Daltos. Daltos? Daltos!” Arsenal ignores the way his leg practically gushes blood as he leans over to shake him by the shoulder. He spots Fieseler covering Klemm as Klemm lumbers over, trailing bandits keeping an eye out for any leftover threats. “Medic!”

A bloody, soot covered Ravs stumbles over from the side, sinking down to lift up Daltos. Arsenal screams at him not to move Daltos, it’s just going to make things worse; Minty’s here by his side, helping him onto a stretcher. He stops screaming when a hand runs through his hair. The anger and fear drain, with that one gesture.

She looks like she’s waded through a slaughterhouse. It would have been hot, but at that moment, Arsenal just wants to know if Daltos is going to live, and if somebody doesn’t tell him, he’s going to commit daylight murder. Minty’s smart in removing the gun from his shoulder.

The clouds start to dust the region with rain, shaking it loose. It’s almost incredible, the timing.

Almost as if she knows, Minty (bless her) has also nicked his digistruct modules. Nobody blames him for crying. He’s moved onto a portable table in the tent. He tries to climb off. Minty roughly shoves him back down. Hollie’s coordinating wounded, attending to the critical patients. She spots Arsenal, hurrying to the table he’s on.

“Stay,” Minty orders, gritting her teeth. Her hair’s matted with blood, sweat and dust. Arsenal strains at Hollie and Minty’s hands. Realising that it’s futile, he sinks onto the table. His leg’s killing him.

Ravs carries Daltos into the tent, laying him onto the other table in full view of Arsenal. Daltos is unconscious; Ravs tugs the bloodied jacket off, pushing up his shirt.

Daltos reacts by opening his eyes, staring into the space past Ravs’ head. It takes him a few seconds for his eyes to focus before he turns his head.

“Ravs?” He blinks, sounding confused, taking in the scene. “Aw,  _ shit _ .” The wound in his side makes itself known.

“I told you I’d find you,” Ravs softly says. “I didn’t get that shield, Pun-chee, back.”

“Forget about it, my side’s killing me.” Daltos winces.

“That’ll be the bullet you took,” Klemm rumbles, wiping their hands on a rag. “I’m out of clean shit to get it out. Heinkel’s off scavenging more booze so I can clean off my tools.”

“I got a couple of kits.” Ravs digistructs one kit, wrapped in leather and tied with an old belt. He also hands over a bottle with the lid taped down.

“How convenient.” Klemm accepts the offered kit, laying it out. They glance between Daltos and Arsenal. “I can only work on one of you at a time. “Who’s going first?”

Daltos grounds out, “Arsenal.”

Arsenal hisses, “Daltos.”

“Well, that ain’t helping.” Klemm rubs their chin, eyes creasing. They glance at Minty and Ravs. “Whenever this happens, I just leave it to whoever’s closest to make a decision.”

Daltos stares down Minty and Ravs. Arsenal already knows what he’s going to say. Minty swallows, turning to Ravs. Ravs turns to her. The two look at Arsenal with identical looks of ‘I’m sorry’, and he instantly knows.

“No.” He shakes his head. Why can’t they see that Daltos’ wound is worse than his?

Ravs leans over Daltos, digistructing another kit and this is stupid, they can’t possibly be asking Klemm to prioritize  _ him _ over Daltos.

“I’ll do my best,” Ravs murmurs. He digistructs another kit, leaning over Daltos. Daltos touches the side of Ravs’ face with the back of his hand, closing his eyes to slump against the table.

“Give me a shot of booze, or something,” Daltos murmurs. Bless Hollie, she dredges up half a bottle of rakk ale, which she helps him drink.

The curtain’s drawn to spare Arsenal the sight. Minty hugs him, her arm pinning him down against his own table as Klemm rolls up the remains of pants leg, exposing the bullet wound.

This is the part where Arsenal won’t stop crying or screaming when Klemm tries to help, until it’s too much and he would rather die than sacrifice a leg, Minty cursing and raging at him for being such a stupid fucking idiot.

He stands (pun not intended) by his final decision. By the time Ravs is done with Daltos, Arsenal’s lost consciousness.

\--

#####  **arsenal’s day off**

Time forgets about him. Arsenal curls up in his bed. His pillow and sheets gets covered in sweat. A violent fever removes what’s left of him, the parts that pain and rage left intact or didn’t bother with. 

In the process, he hallucinates voices that slip into his awareness.

Someone slips him cold water from a canteen. He almost throws it back up, his throat muscles refusing to work until hands massage his back, stroking across his head.

Water makes him thirstier. His mouth stays locked when he tries to ask for more. Whoever’s looking after him somehow knows, making sure that he stays hydrated. Food is a hit or miss, depending on whether or not the fever decides his stomach is worth upsetting.

His dreams are varied. Fortunately, he doesn’t have a dick; his subconscious feeds him racy dreams of Minty. Sometimes of Ravs. Sometimes of Daltos. Sometimes of all three at once, which is really just plain mean.

Once, he dreams of a massive, purple eye peering at him beyond a giant, metal door stamped with a tantalizingly familiar symbol. Trying to hang onto the vision is useless; he soon forgets about it.

Rats devour his leg. Claw-like hands shred off portions to munch on, the hooded, gaunt bandits emitting content sounds. Arsenal tries to run, falling onto his front. Greedy hands tenderly peel his left leg apart like it’s a ration bar, exposing the rest of the blunted bone as mouths filled with hungry teeth peel back, dipping down to eat him alive.

A bleak jail cell where he lies on the floor, caged in by his pain and humiliation, strips of red colored cloth spooling around his damaged leg. White winds around his blunted leg bone, feeling like his insides are teased out to become thread and fabric. 

Birds (the ones that flew silently and swallows prey whole, he forgets the name) descend on him from the bandana's brown, patterned edge, settling to perch on his still body, covering him with their magnificent, downy wings, providing a temporary safe haven.

He’s back on the battlefield. Gun in hand, he’s nearly shitting himself as war rages on all around him. The gun is used to prop himself up, bayonet cutting through the dirt.

In this one, Daltos never returns for him. Arsenal watches the rakk hives trample the grass into flat discs. Downed bandits scream as they’re reduced to pulp and guts. Machines, grenades and guns flash in his peripheral vision, serving as temporary distractions.

The swooping Buzzards rain destruction. A bomb descends to blast open a crater next to him. Even when he’s being showered by debris, Arsenal keeps calling out for Daltos until his voice too, fails. His throat burns with disappointment. 

A bomb streaks towards him. He dies, obliterated in a fiery wrath, wondering if Daltos has forgotten about him. There is pain, then abrupt nothingness.

Arsenal dreams of running barefoot along a sunny beach, salty air filling and leaving his lungs. The sand flies up to meet him. He collapses on his hands and knees, panting, flipping over onto his back, utterly confused about the sudden loss of balance. Everything that should be below his left knee is gone. In its place lies his faithful shield, the Sham.

Blinking back angry tears, he remains sprawled out on the white sand, closing his eyes. The tide rises, red water finding its way into his mouth, nose, ears and eyes, filling his lungs for him. He chooses to drown.

A hundred, graphic dreams parade through his skull. It’s horrible, how his subconscious insists that he’s dying in almost every single one of them. He must be. Nothing else explains his current ordeal.

Jig’s up, son.

The fever abates, leaving him weakened, exhausted. Arsenal opens his eyes. There’s the unexplainable urge to bang his head against the wall until his head stops being filled with the incredible, numbing static that forms his loose, scattered thoughts. The only thing real is the pain.

His left leg is still present. Someone’s rolled up his pants leg, exposing the horror that he’d inflicted on himself. Even with the light dimmed, all the inflamed scars from the botched bullet removal stand out, grotesque and stomach wrenching.

He tries to call out for Daltos, fearing silence. The act drains Arsenal’s remaining energy, forcing him under against his will.

The next time he comes to, there’s a warm body in the bed with him. Arsenal starts. His hands reach out, pushing the other onto their back. Daltos frowns in his sleep. Arsenal’s eyes find the bandage stuck to the side of Daltos’ body. His hands feel for Daltos’ neck.

Daltos’ pulse exists. For whatever reason, he’s here, sleeping alongside him. Reassured, Arsenal lies back down, having spent his meagre allowance of energy. He manages to get a hand around Daltos’ bare chest, not caring if Daltos has an issue with it.

It helps him sleep.

Arsenal dreams of Lomadia, sitting on a rock, her back to him. Arsenal runs towards her, reaching with a hand. Alas, he keeps forgetting about his leg; he falls for the thousandth time. When he gets up, she’s gone, the wind curling around the rock she’d sat on. No matter how long he crawls, she remains out of his reach.

Her rakk shrieks–he wakes.

“This is getting stupid,” He mutters, cracking his bleary eyes open.

“Good evening,” speaks a familiar, low voice. 

Arsenal spots Minty sitting on the dead robot. She helps him drink, sitting him up. It’s ridiculous, how weak he is. He can’t even hold the glass without it shaking in his hand.

He drinks as much as he can. She helps him down the hallway towards the communal bathroom. Bandits vacate when she enters with him leaning across her shoulders.

A shower makes waking up slightly more bearable. Minty’s left him clean clothes to change into. He’s barefoot, so that spares him the tedious business of tying his bootlaces, or having her do it for him. Once he’s reasonably dressed (he can’t even do up his jacket, leaving it hanging open), Minty helps him back.

He sits on the bed, leaning on the wall, left leg bent to offset the white-hot pain attacking it. Mustering up the will to speak takes a while. He loses his voice twice. 

Minty waits, watching him with an unreadable expression. No more blood’s covering her form or her hat. She must have replaced the band. It’s no longer the color of cream, adopting a dark brown hue.

Out of the remains of his patchy memories, a bitterness takes shape.

“Why’d you choose me?” Arsenal lets his gaze go impassive. Once upon a time, he wouldn’t have considered doing it, not to Minty, never to Minty. Times have changed.

“Do you want a pack of lies that’ll make you feel better, or the simple, ugly truth?” Her bluntness stings, like a slap to the face.

“Of course I want the fucking truth,” Arsenal snaps.

“Fine.” Minty shoves off the wall. She’s not sorry, and that’s what pisses him off. “He ordered us to.”

He flinches. “He  _ ordered _ you to?”

He can’t imagine Minty accepting such an order; she’s always chafed at taking any such thing from Daltos, so he gives her a choice, always. It hits him that he hadn’t given her one, this time. Maybe Minty’s glad he didn’t make her choose, the decision already made for her before Klemm had even asked.

Arsenal has a hunch that even if she did have a choice, she’d pick him anyway, over Daltos. As for Ravs, Ravs isn’t here so Arsenal can’t pick his brain. That can happen later.

“He wants you to live,” Minty retorts.

“I’m no use to him like this.” Arsenal lifts his left leg; it aches, still, from the inside, like something doesn’t sit right. He lets it drop. It doesn’t even  _ feel _ right, an awkward chunk of defiant, severed nerves, muscle and flesh. “How can I be his lieutenant now?”

“No matter what happens, you’ll always be his lieutenant,” Minty sharply says.

“Then I don’t want to be his lieutenant!” Arsenal doesn’t need to raise his voice, letting it slip into a rough rasp. He might as well have shouted.

“You are behaving like a little  _ shit _ ,” Minty snarls. She’s never snarled before. Arsenal meets her glare with one of his own. Rather than punching him, she storms off. His door slams.

Arsenal scrubs his face with a hand. They’ve never argued before like this. Their arguments tended to be lighter, full of poking fun at each other. If this is how Daltos feels whenever a disagreement between him and Ravs escalates, Arsenal’s sympathetic to his resulting dip in mood.

The door slides open. If it’s Minty, he’s going to go back to sleep even if she sits in his room to watch over him. It’s not her. Daltos knocks on the frame. Minty’s nowhere to be found. Arsenal searches his face for any hint of regret as to why he ordered her and Ravs to make that one decision.

None exists. This makes Arsenal want to lie down again, because Minty’s right even if he’s in stubborn denial about it.

“Daltos.” Arsenal can’t meet his eyes.

“Minty said you didn’t want to be my lieutenant.” Daltos’ voice is softened, for some reason.

Arsenal nods. Crying in his dreams isn’t enough, apparently. “I can’t follow you anymore.” And you’re going to leave me behind. Daltos sits next to him. He tugs Arsenal towards him, letting him rest his head against his shoulder. The act destroys Arsenal. “I  _ can’t _ , not with this leg.”

Why doesn’t Daltos  _ get _ it?

“You’ll always be my lieutenant, no matter what. There’s other ways you can be my lieutenant.”

“Like what? Being dead weight?”

“The frigate needs another lieutenant looking after it.“ Daltos looks at him. “You’d be perfect.” There’s nobody to watch his back in a fight if Arsenal’s confined to the frigate. Arsenal tells him. “I’m not that easy to kill.” A wry sort of smile finds its way onto Daltos’ face. “And neither are you.”

He’s so serious about this. Arsenal stops bawling, wiping his face with his jacket’s sleeve (which somebody had laundered for him). “Listen, I need a massive favor, before it’s too late.”

“I’m listening.”

“I have a message I need you to pass to a friend. Her name’s Lomadia...”

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

MintyMinute: Well? How did it go?

Daltos: He’s still in his room. He just came back a while ago and just went straight to it.

MintyMinute: Man, he’s really upset about this friend of his. He didn’t even laugh when she punched you.

Daltos: It’s my fault. I told her to wait for him.

MintyMinute: No, it’s mine. I stopped him from going too soon.

Daltos: You had to. His leg wasn’t healed up yet.

MintyMinute: You realise it’ll never heal up, right?

Daltos: That doesn’t mean he can’t use it.

MintyMinute: You got an odd way of being optimistic about him walking around without people helping him.

Daltos: He doesn’t  _ want _ any help, not from me, not from Ravs, not from you, or anybody.

MintyMinute: Now what?

Daltos: We wait. He’ll get better.

MintyMinute: You also got an awful lot of confidence about him pulling himself out of his own funk.

Daltos: I believe in him.

MintyMinute: I do, too. I just hope you’re right.

Daltos: Ravs is going to talk to him. Also, we need to figure out how Arsenal is gonna handle Ravs blowing all his arena cash on an Anshin syringe for him.

MintyMinute: It’s damned simple, we tell him the truth.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

#####  **the sheriff and the bandit**

Minty dumps the hammer into its toolbox. She’s getting real sick of having to make emergency repairs. Hollie and a few other lieutenants of hers are scouting out the town for any further threats. A mental count tells her that this is the fifth ambush in her own house and town. There’s no shortage of bounty hunters on Pandora, it seems.

Briefly, she considers asking Arsenal if this is happening to him, then decides against it. Ever since their disagreement, the two have agreed that they need some time apart. Minty gets it. Not every couple’s perfect, or could ever expect to be. 

At the moment, Ravs is working through his own rough patch with Daltos. A long distance relationship is what the two have opted for, once Ravs had handed over his territory and his bandits, as a parting gift. Jokes have been made about it being a dowry of some kind (and she doubts bandits get what a dowry is).

She does miss Arsenal. He’s on the mend, regaining his ability to walk, albeit at a hampered, limping pace. Daltos reports to her his weekly progress. She never asks for the updates. Still, Daltos pushes them through to her ECHO device. It’s appreciated; she’d normally be by Arsenal’s side at this point in time, helping him.

It doesn’t take a genius to realise that her presence is likely to be a source of annoyance. As for whether he’ll forgive her for picking him over Daltos, that’s up in the air. Arsenal’s ambivalent towards Ravs, acting simultaneously grateful and ungrateful.

For once in her life, Minty is unsure. Arsenal needs time. They all do.

She tilts her head up, mouth twisting in a grimace. She does know that she’s not safe, on Pandora. The bounty hunters will keep coming, if her wanted poster’s (boasting a six figure payout) any indication. Hollie and the others are better off following another Bandit Lord.

She tugs out her ECHO device, seeking a meeting with Daltos (privately hoping that Arsenal will be there; even if he’s not talking to her at the moment, he’ll show).

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Daltos: You’re telling me you want to be a sheriff?

MintyMinute: Don’t talk so fucking loud.

Daltos: They’ll never let a bandit be a sheriff.

MintyMinute: Listen, there’s only one goddamned way to get those bounty hunters off my back.

Daltos: And that’s to become a lackey of the law?

MintyMinute: I ain’t seeing your point.

Daltos: Minty, you’re literally spitting in the face of all bandits.

MintyMinuty: Being a bandit and being a sheriff ain’t  _ that _ different.

Daltos: There’s  _ rules _ , for starters.

MintyMinute: Which I can ignore.

Daltos: ‘They’ don’t like that.

MintyMinute: Not where I’m headed.

Daltos: What are you looking at?

MintyMinute: That there, is my new stronghold.

Daltos: You’re fucking nuts. You can’t make the moon your stronghold.

MintyMinute: Says the bastard secretly trying to fix a frigate.

Daltos: ...How did you know I was trying to fix it?

MintyMinute: I didn’t.

Daltos: You can’t tell anyone.

MintyMinute: And you can’t stop me from fucking going up to Elpis.

Daltos: How does Arsenal feel about this?

MintyMinute: I ain’t saying shit to him.

Daltos: He needs to know.

MintyMinute: He don’t.

Daltos: Look, he ain’t mad at you anymore. He’s just angry at himself these days.

MintyMinute: I know he ain’t mad at me.

Daltos: Then why are you leaving him in the dark?

MintyMinute: Boy’s got enough issues to deal with already. I don’t need to add to them.

Daltos: At least tell him you’re going!

MintyMinute: What the fuck do I tell him? Hey, I’m rocketing off to the moon and I don’t know when I’ll be back? Is that what you want me to say to his face? Is it?

Daltos: Anything’s better than silence. Just–trust me on that. Say goodbye.

MintyMinute: You’re real sweet when you’re worried.

Daltos: Shut up, and get going.

MintyMinute: Before I go, you know what’s happening to my gang?

Daltos: No.

MintyMinute: Heh, well. They’re all yours now, and my little town.

Daltos: You can’t just give me your town and your gang!

MintyMinute: Here’s the keys to my place. Take good care of it, you hear?

Daltos: I’ll give your lot to Arsenal. They know him better than I do.

MintyMinute: You take real good care of Hollie. Her aim needs work, but she learns fast. Plus, she’s really good with a bandage.

Daltos: I could use another medic. Thanks.

MintyMinute: You’re fucking welcome. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got a wayward bandit with a bum leg to track down and kiss the everloving shit out of.

Daltos: Is it alright if I invite Ravs to the goodbye party?

MintyMinute: Fucking yes. I want us to settle that drinking contest once and for all.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Arsenal: Minty.

MintyMinute: Arsenal.

Arsenal: You coming into my room or what?

MintyMinute: First things first, I can’t stay for long.

Arsenal: Why not? You usually stay overnight.

MintyMinute: See, I gotta pack.

Arsenal: Where’re you going?

MintyMinute: Elpis.

Arsenal: There’s nothing on Elpis, so why would you possibly want to go there?

MintyMinute: That’s exactly the reason why I’m going.

Arsenal: ...You’re running.

MintyMinute: I’m retreating.

Arsenal: You’re fucking running.

MintyMinute: Now just hold the fuck up, there’s a difference.

Arsenal: Not to me, not to any bandit.

MintyMinute: Oh, please, drop the bandit act. I’m sick and tired of fighting people on my own doorstep. I nearly got shot in the head while making dinner. I knew I’d never get a moment’s peace on Pandora, but that’s the last straw. I lost my goddamned pet skags because of some fucking spat between Daltos and some other gang, and some fucker decided it was real smart to pick on me. They got what was coming, once I found them. That tells me that nothing I love’s safe. Ravs realised that once his bounty got thrown down. He got out. Sooner or later, you and Daltos are going to suffer. I won’t be the cause of that suffering. So, as for this, I ain’t go nobody to shoot at, except for myself. Do you want me to be dead? Or would you rather I’m far away but  _ alive _ ?

Arsenal: …

MintyMinute: Your turn.

Arsenal: ...I ain’t got nothing to say.

MintyMinute: You sure?

Arsenal: It ain’t got shit on yours.

MintyMinute: You done hating on me for wanting you to live?

Arsenal: ...I think he knew I couldn’t hate you or Ravs forever. That’s why he told you to pick me. Else he’d have hated you two and himself if I died.

MintyMinute: Hard to say. Who knows what's going through that head of his?

Arsenal: I can try to guess.

MintyMinute: Anyway, you want to kiss and make up? Or do you want me to leave you to be all mopey?

Arsenal: You could slap me for being an idiot and then kiss me.

MintyMinute: You’re an idiot.

Arsenal: But I’m your idiot. Nothing’ll ever change that.

MintyMinute: Arsenal, never change.

Arsenal: You too, Minty. Ah, watch the leg, it’s worse than usual.

MintyMinute: I’ll be real careful.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

#####  **i am minty**

At the border, Minty shoulders her bag up higher. Ravs, Daltos, Hollie and Arsenal remain by their technicals. This is the part where they’re all supposed to say goodbye, then go on their merry ways and never speak to each other again. Her ideal goodbye’s short, sweet and straight to the point. This isn’t one of them. 

She now known these people for years. She can’t cut them out of her life that easily (and the face of a now famous mercenary she’ll never see again fills her with a bittersweet nostalgia).

Daltos thrusts out a gloved hand. He’s smoking, though he hasn’t lit his cigarette up, letting it dangle out of his mouth. “See you around,” He gruffly says.

Minty grins. Dodging his hand, she reaches up, her fingers pinching the end of his cigarette to transfer it to her own mouth. He sighs, letting her do so. “You should stop smoking.”

“You first,” is his curt response. He puts his hand down.

Ravs lifts her off her feet in a bear hug, kissing her cheek. His new stubble scrapes against her skin, a sensation that she’ll dearly crave (especially in other places).

“I’ll miss you!” He lowers her onto the ground, gently, one hand patting her shoulder. “Nobody else can drink on my level.”

“Shame that last drinking contest ended in a draw.”

“Next time, yes?” He winks at her.

She rolls her eyes. “You just be real careful. I hear Vault Hunters are getting in on the bounty hunting these days.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” Ravs heartily assures her. “I’m being extra careful.”

“And don’t be silly, cover your willy,” Minty quips. Ravs guffaws, gracing her with another cheek kiss. Arching an eyebrow, she turns to Arsenal. “I’m gonna miss this.” Smirking, she leans over to deliver a quick pat to Arsenal’s butt.

He pretends to blush, sighing, “I’ll miss your deadpan ‘yeehaws’ ruining the mood.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” Minty says, waggling her eyebrows. “Look, I’ll try to visit, but I’m not making any promises I can’t keep.” Daltos and Ravs nod. Biting her lip, Hollie keeps staring into space like Minty’s not part of this world.

Looking like Minty’s just told him to go fuck himself, Arsenal stares at her. A second later, his arms are wrapping around her, nearly picking her up. He doesn’t achieve the same effect as Ravs, but he tries. His left leg’s giving him trouble, making him buckle to the right. He buries his face in her hair, trembling all over, like he’s trying to remember her being held in his arms.

“My larger than life gal, my dudette, my spicy croissant...“ All the pet names he’s ever given her are being whispered into her ear, his breathless voice thick with emotion. “My tough as nails Minty.”

Minty gets a hand between the two of them, tracing the old scar on his nose with the tip of her finger. She lets a faint smirk appear on her face, the one that never fails to delight him. One of her hands trail down his chest (and she slips a special gift into one of his pockets there), ending up on his belt.

“Be a good boy, you hear?” Minty murmurs, chucking him under the chin. He silently nods, letting her go, standing tall and proud for her sake. “Anybody else want to say something? Hols?” Minty glances expectantly at Hollie, who’s been unusually quiet.

Hollie takes a deep breath and steps forward. A blush fills her cheeks. “Minty, I’m going with you.”

“I only got one ticket,” Minty automatically points out.

Hollie fidgets, giving Ravs a guilty look. Ravs rubs the back of his head. “He insisted on paying for my ticket up to Elpis, using his emergency arena earnings, if I’d go with you,” Hollie reveals, in a small voice.

“Looks like the cat’s out of the bag,” Ravs says, giving Minty a sheepish grin. “Don’t worry, I can start over, and booze’ll pay for the rest.”

“You told me that you bought yourself a new kilt,” Daltos accuses.

“Not now,” Ravs says, trying to placate him.

“You lied to me about how much you’ve earned!”

Ignoring the bickering, Minty eyes Hollie. She shrugs, not wanting to argue with a stubborn Hollie. “Alright. Hope you got your things.”

“Already taken care of!” Hollie pats her digistruct modules.

“Then sit down and get comfy, the bus’ll be here in about an hour.” Minty nods at the bench next to her. Hollie plonks herself down on it, clearly relieved at being allowed to follow. 

Daltos, Arsenal and Ravs split. Minty watches their technicals speed off until the distant landscape hides them from her sight. Arsenal must have had something stuck in his eyes to keep wiping his sleeve over his face. Heh, so does she.

\--

T-Bone Junction is a sleepy town set on concrete struts planted in the middle of a dying oasis. As Minty expected, it’s chock full of drowsy people who said ‘hi’ to wandering strangers, countless opportunities to stuff sand where it shouldn’t go, and illegal fishers. Hollie almost steps on her heels in her haste to keep up with Minty’s brisk stride.

Minty hadn’t expected the pilot to be a former Dahl captain. If it hadn’t been for the extraordinary scar on their brow, the proper cut of their uniform or the military precision to their posture, Minty would have called them out for being an imposter. The monocle’s a nice, antique touch, practically unique by Pandoran fashion standards. 

They’re standing by a set of stairs, appearing to watch the people passing them with detached interest.

“You the fly boy?” She calls out.

The pilot reacts by starting at the sound of her voice. They glance up in her direction, their face changing from an embarrassed wince to guarded wariness. “You looking to head up to Elpis?”

“That’s right.” 

“I’m Zylus.” Zylus peers at her, looking over her clothing.

“Name’s Minty, this here’s Hollie.” Minty raises her eyebrows at the wariness transitions into mild curiosity. “I got something on my face or what?”

“I wasn’t expecting a sheriff to hitch a ride,” Zylus admits, with reluctance.

Minty purses her lips. She gets mistaken for a sheriff almost on a daily basis, to the point of jokingly pinning a fake badge to her coat. It gleams on her chest. That’d been the intention, to bluff her way on board the shuttle and deal with the resulting mess on the other end of the trip. It won’t suit her purposes if Zylus is onto her.

“You got a problem?” She softly asks. “‘cause I don’t want to have to pull the law on you and your illegal airfield.”

Something weary and defiant flashes in his remaining real eye. If anything, Zylus stands up a little straighter (which he just proves is entirely possible), his hands behind his back. “Sheriff Minty, I’m not looking for trouble.”

“Then what’s the matter?” Minty gestures with her chin. “Why aren’t we boarding?”

“There’s currently a situation on Elpis.” Zylus’ face remains neutral. “Scavs have locked down Concordia.”

“Scavs, you say?” Minty raises an eyebrow. This development is going to throw her plans to get off Pandora out the window.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“Can’t say I am. Scavs and bandits are one and same, just got different names. You leave them for one day without someone in charge and they’ll default to rioting.” Minty tosses a braid over one shoulder. “Who’s dealing with them?”

“Nobody wants to, except for me, but I’m outgunned.” A muscle twitches in Zylus’ jaw. “The second I step off my ship, I’m dead.”

“You know how many are up there?”

“About thirty, give or take a few civilians who decided to become scavengers.” He gives her a sharp look. “Surely you’re not going up there to arrest them.”

“I got a job to do, and I’ll be damned if I let a bunch of rotten scavengers get in my way.” Minty smirks. “Why don’t you let me have a look at your map of Concordia?”

Zylus doesn’t hesitate in sharing his map of Concordia and its surroundings. Minty surveys the map. Hollie stickybeaks. She’s had the good sense to remain silent, pretending to be a civilian. Minty tries to remember what Daltos would do in this situation–the name ‘Zylus’ has come up more than once in his late-night conversations with Ravs, usually not with any amount of happiness attached to it.

She carefully, does not look at Zylus, concentrating on tracing the easiest route to Concordia from the outer regions.

“Does Concordia have a shield?”

“It’s not a very good one,” Zylus informs her. “It’s just there to stop oxygen from escaping into the atmosphere. Otherwise, anybody can pass through it.”

“Can a ship pass through it?”

“If they haven’t disabled the anti-collision setting for anything larger than a human, I don’t see why not.”

“I’ll take those odds, if scavs are as stupid as bandits and are still looting the place and forgot about security.” Minty pulls out a cigarette, chewing on it. She prods the map. “You drop me in close, then get clear. I’ll get in there, no problem.” She then points to Hollie. “She stays with you until I give the all-clear.” 

Hollie purses her mouth, not liking the idea. If she doesn’t want to blow her cover, she’ll stay quiet.

“What are you planning?” Zylus eyes her.

“You’ll see.” Minty idly gestures. “But hey, you want a job once this is all over?”

“What job?”

“Flying with just passengers ain’t productive. I could pay you to drop off supplies on top of people. That is, if you get me up to Elpis now.”

Zylus stares at her. He smiles. “Yes, I’d like a job.”

“Then we got a deal.” Minty extends a hand. He takes it, shaking hers. “I look forward to working with you, Zylus.”

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Zylus: I think you should sit down.

MintyMinute: Fuck’s sake, stop your mothering, I ain’t gonna die, not after making Concordia mine.

Zylus: Is Hollie a doctor?

MintyMinute: Yeah, she is. What, did you think she was a bandit or something?

Zylus: No! It’s just...she was really worried about you walking into Concordia by yourself.

MintyMinute: She worries about everyone.

Zylus: ...I didn’t leave the hatch to my ship like this.

MintyMinute: You didn’t? Seems like we should go and check it out.

Zylus: I think so too.

MintyMinute: Over here! Looks like you got a stowaway.

PyrionFlax: I wasn’t trying to avoid paying, I swear!

Zylus: Get off my fucking ship.

MintyMinute: Easy there, Zylus. You, why’d you try to sneak on board?

PyrionFlax: You don’t understand, I got people after me!

MintyMinute: What kinds of people?

PyrionFlax: Bad ones!

MintyMinute: And I’m the Hyperion CEO. Your case ain’t looking good, son.

PyrionFlax: Do you know who ‘Teep’ is?

MintyMinute: Can’t say I do.

PyrionFlax: Here’s their wanted poster! Look at that bounty!

MintyMinute: Heh, what’d you do to get on their bad side?

PyrionFlax: I can’t tell you!

MintyMinute: Your secret’s safe with us, right, Zylus?

Zylus: Yeah. It is. Once you’re dead.

MintyMinute: And we don’t go flapping our lips either.

PyrionFlax: ...I tipped off a bounty hunter. Oh, I shouldn’t have done that, that wasn’t worth it, they know where I’ve gone! I shouldn’t have stuck around that Tediore plant!

MintyMinute: That wasn’t so bad, was it?

PyrionFlax: Now that I’ve told you, they’ll be after you too!

MintyMinute: No, now that you’ve told us, we can help you.

PyrionFlax: You will?

MintyMinute: You have to do what we tell you to, or else we’ll tell them where you are!

PyrionFlax: You fucking tricked me!

Zylus: You tricked yourself.

PyrionFlax: This is abuse of authority! I demand a lawyer!

Zylus: You’re not going to find a lawyer in a hundred light years of Pandora.

MintyMinute: Don’t look so down. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect a  _ citizen _ of Elpis.

PyrionFlax: But I don’t live on–oh. Oh!

MintyMinute: You’re getting it. However, if you set foot on Pandora, your protection goes poof.

PyrionFlax; So I’m safe so long as I stay on Elpis, yeah?

MintyMinute: You could say that.

PyrionFlax: Thank you, thank you, thank you, you won’t regret this!

MintyMinute: Hold it. Protection ain’t free.

PyrionFlax: That’s what she...please don’t shoot me.

MintyMinute: Won’t need to, if you don’t be rude.

Zylus: She will too, and she never misses. She didn’t miss any of those scavs back there.

PyrionFlax: What do you want me to do?

MintyMinute: Let’s talk in my office. I need someone to keep an eye on Concordia for me.

PyrionFlax: Uhhh, sure?

MintyMinute: That wasn’t a choice.

Zylus: Move it. If you run, I shoot you in the leg.

MintyMinute: There, there, Zylus isn’t so scary when he’s not catching stowaways. No need to sweat it, we’ll all friends here.

PyrionFlax: That’s not sweat.

Zylus: EW.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

#####  **arsenal in wonderland**

I

am not feeling so good

I’m feeling gr

e

at.

Have I ever told you how much I love my dude’s face?He’s the handsomest guy I’ve ever met and I’ve met a lotta dudes. He’s got a chiseled jaw like a bunch of canyon rocks, such strong, much manliness. 

I just. Want to pat his stubbly chin for a week. Just put my hand right on that jaw, gently rub my palm all over that jawbone, mmyep, until I can feel it in my sleep.

I could spend hours staring into those beautiful, brown eyes. Or I could eat a ration bar. Uhhh, fucking shit, melanoma, crossway, bargain, HOLY BABIES IN A HANDBASKET, where’s Minty when I need her to open shit for me? I could use a guy. Two guys, in fact.

I’m still thinking about those eyes, so full of depth and wonder and how they look at me with such emotion after we’ve just gotten smashed on two drinks and we’re calling each other ‘yep, still gay’, ‘gay’s still here’, ‘no, you’re gay’, ‘you’re gayer’ and then, ‘you’re the  _ gayest _ ’ and then one of us goes ‘fuck’ which is just about the funniest punchline in the world, maybe in all of the six galaxies because I couldn’t ever come up with a better punchline than that.

That’s super dope.  _ I’m _ dope. I wanna kiss that face. I like kissing. You ever think about how weird kissing is? It’s when you put your mouth on their mouth or another part of them and they really, really  _ like _ it. Humans are weird. 

Wait.  _ I’m _ human. I’m a weird human. Huuuuummmmaaaannnn. Hummus. Hummer. Humdee.

He’s got great hair, silky smooth, all soft like the feathers rakks would have if rakks weren’t permanently constipated flying scaly things. That’s hair I could pat for days. Pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, he doesn’t let me pat him until we’re cuddling. He’s a great cuddler. When we cuddle, I get to see all those scars. He doesn’t mind...talking about them. I wish I could remember what he said but my brain is all mush right now.

It’s a nice mush. I hate mushy peas. I’m hungry. Still haven’t opened the ration bar.

He’s a great guy. He’s saved my ass and I’ve saved his. Oh boy, I haven’t even talked about his ass yet. You could bounce a coin off that thing. I’ve seen a lot of flat asses and that definitely ain’t one of them. Gonna tap that when I can, yessir. Ravs still has the best ass out of anybody. The other dude’s a close second.

I should try calling him ‘sir’ next. Fuck, it’s like calling Minty ‘ma’am’, that’s kind of hot. Did I mention my dude’s hot as fuck? He is. There’s a lot of camps on this frigate.

There’s camp ‘fuck this guy’, then there’s camp ‘fucking kill this guy and then, there’s camp ‘ _ fuck _ this guy’. It’s great. His face is great. I just love it so much. I see it when I close my eyes. Or that’s just the light. Holy fuck, do we have lights that turn on whenever I clap now?

THIS IS THE GREATEST DISCOVERY NEXT TO FINDING OUT I COULD CHANGE MY FACE USING THE QUICK CHANGE MACHINE!

Or maybe that was just my eyes adjusting to somebody turning on the light. 

OI! LIGHTS OFF! CAN’T YOU SEE I’M WAXING FUCKING POETRY HERE? THANK YOU. NOW GOOD DAY TO YOU.

...I should have asked them to open my ration bar for me. That was stupid.

I don't even know if this is my room or not. I think it is. It’s a bed. Bed’s good. I’m just gonna lie down for a sec.

\--

...What the everloving fuck was I on yesterday? ...New painkillers. That explains it. Welp, back to the drawing board with Klemm’s guy.

\--

#####  **one bullet man**

“Hey, you! Arse!” The rude call breaks whatever thought process Arsenal’s having. Fieseler and Klemm step aside so Arsenal can turn around to face the three bandits addressing him.

He does so, raising an eyebrow. Three new bandits, fresh from the grinder of recruitment hell, glare at him. Well, it ain’t his fault if their gang lost and had to join up if they didn’t want to die.

Arsenal rearranges his own face into a grin.  Fieseler and Klemm step back another metre. “What’s up? Did you get a booboo?”

None of the bandits snort, nor let their mouths twitch in amusement. That’s how Arsenal knows that he’s dealing with a bunch of pricks who have no sense of humor whatsoever. 

The Nomad clunks forward, heavy coat and gear clanking. A dented metal shield hangs off their back. “You the ass in charge of this fucking piece of junk?” Arsenal’s a little offended that ‘ass’ earns a snicker and a snort.

“Nah, that’d be Desperado,” He says, hoping to offload these chumps onto Arado.

“Desperado told us to find you if we wanted a ‘special challenge’, whatever the fuck it is.” The Nomad’s glare intensifies under their metal, pointed hat. It’s bright orange. It reminds him of a beach umbrella.

“I’ll get the medbay prepped,” Klemm helpfully rumbles. Fieseler gives Arsenal a sort of knowing half-grin, trooping along after the former.

Arsenal whistles a single note. “Well, this puts me in a real  _ awkward _ position. You see, I don't just let anybody do the ‘special challenge’, ‘cause it’s real hard and all that.” He leans against the wall, casually inspecting his fingernails (one’s chipped from digging old paint out of a technical headlight). “I’ve only ever let Daltos come up against me, and he still has trouble winning sometimes.”

“We’ll win that challenge. We hear the reward’s real good,” The Marauder beside them sneers.

Huh, Arsenal definitely didn’t mention a reward attached to said challenge. Thanks, rumour mill, for adding to that. “You can definitely take the challenge, but you sure you can handle it?”

“We can handle it!” The Goliath booms, stooping to peer Arsenal in the eyes. The darkness inside their helmet reminds Arsenal of a tunnel hiding an incoming train. It could hit him when least expected and make him mincemeat.

“Alright, follow me.” Arsenal shoves off the wall, limping towards the shooting gallery. Snickers follow him. Bandits begin to spread word. Soon enough, a crew’s trailing behind the three challengers. 

The three challengers seem so self-assured that Arsenal doesn’t bother warning them. Not everybody can fit into the room. Priority goes to the lieutenants. Hurricane’s here, as with Arado, plus Dornier, Siebel and Gotha (who has to squeeze in). They’re all passing bets amongst themselves.

“What’s this place?” The Nomad grunts. “Some kind of gallery?”

“This is the challenge? It doesn’t look so hard!” The Marauder scoffs.

“Easy,” The Goliath boasts.

“You know the rules? Okay, good.” Arsenal taps a few buttons on the console, bringing up three targets and a rack of weapons out of the walls, making sure that it’s just pistols. He lets the three choose their choice; not that it’ll matter. “Now pick your target.”

The three, along with Arsenal, take their places along the shooting gallery. “Hey, why aren’t you holding a gun?”

“Don’t need to be holding it like you lot are,” Arsenal lightly says. Today’s a good day for this contest; his leg’s suffering is minimal. He can concentrate without any excuses. That’s an exceptionally bad sign for his challengers.

“Suit yourself, you're just making it easier for us.” The Nomad snickers.

When the traffic light turns green, each will fire one shot, and only that first one shot, will count. Daltos, Minty, Ravs and Arsenal used to have weekly contests; Ravs participates even if his sharpshooting isn't as refined or precise (he jokes about ‘spraying and praying’). Minty, Daltos and Arsenal have all tied at one point or another.

These days, Arsenal and Daltos duel in the spirit of nostalgia. Also, to see who gets stuck dealing with eating yesterday’s leftovers.

Everyone in the room holds their breath, waiting. The light blinks green. Arsenal’s hand blurs. Before the others can fire, his shot’s slamming into the target, dead center in the forehead. A bell rigged to the back of the target dings, announcing his win. The three other bells go off, several seconds after. Two of the shots go wild, pinching off the metal sides. The last round punches a cheek.

The horde of watching lieutenants crack up, cheering and whistling. Arsenal smirks, taking a bow. He spins his pistol, despawning it. “Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all day.”

“We want a rematch,” The Marauder demands, looking disgruntled like a rakk who’s had their eggs stolen out from under their nose.

“Rematch? Sure.” Arsenal resets the targets; the Nomad, Marauder and Goliath force him to switch places. Shrugging, Arsenal complies.

The light flashes green. He fires not one, but  _ two _ shots in rapid succession, the two nailing the intended target in the forehead, barely a centimetres apart. 

“Give us your gun,” The Nomad threatens. Arsenal hands his gun over. The Nomad inspects it carefully. “Use mine, you dirty cheat.”

“I’m not cheating,” Arsenal points out. “You’re just terrible shots.”

“We’ll see about that.”

The remaining six rounds go to Arsenal. Arsenal marks each victory with a grin as his opponents steadily grow more vexed and furious with their lack of ability, confidence flushed down the drain.

“You’ve rigged this!” The Nomad accuses.

“I’ve given you my gun, changed places, changed guns, did it with one hand tied behind my back, and even did it blindfolded, but I think it’s pretty damn clear that I win.” Arsenal’s spinning one of his other pistols. It’s not his favourite, but it lives up to his tinkering. “If you still ain’t happy, I’m sure we can work out something else instead so that it’s all fair.”

The Marauder thumps their friend on the arm. “Don’t do it, you’ve seen this bugger shoot, he ain’t fucking around.” The Goliath nudges their friend too. Arsenal’s never seen a Goliath act nervous; they hunched down, lower. If Gotha did that, they’d be impossible to sidle past in the frigate’s smaller hallways.

The Nomad glares at their friend. At last, they shake their head. “You win, you fucking bastard.”

“You happy with that?” Arsenal inquires.

“Yeah, I’m happy with living!” The Nomad snaps.

“Great! Because it ain’t fair to accuse me of cheating and not apologise after, but you’re lucky I’m such a swell, understanding guy that I’ll just let you off with a warning.” Arsenal catches his pistol mid-spin, neatly firing a bullet straight into the Nomad’s thigh. “That could have gone somewhere nasty. Aren’t you lucky today?” He beams at the screaming Nomad who’s fallen over onto their side, clutching at their leg.

“You fucking cunt! I’ll kill you and rip out your insides!”

The entire room ices over. Metaphorically, that is. Arsenal clicks his tongue. He merely aims the pistol, firing off a second shot into the Nomad’s other thigh. “That’s two out of three chances. Want to find out what happens on the third strike?”

“No! He’s learned his lesson!” The Marauder shields their friend, throwing themself in front of the moaning Nomad. The Goliath’s head swivels to watch them, and Arsenal.

“You sure?” Arsenal reloads the pistol, making a bigger show of it than usual. There are ways of dealing with a berserking Goliath, but it’s always better to avoid enraging one in the first place. Hence, why he hadn’t shot to kill. “Then you owe me. I’ll collect whenever I feel like it.”

“Sure, yeah, just let us go to the medbay,” The Marauder pleads.

“Better run, he’s bleeding an awful lot,” Arsenal mildly points out. “Wait, you deserve a prize for participating.”

“I dunno, they didn’t really seem into it!” Hurricane jeers.

“No, I think they do! It’s all in the spirit,” Arsenal calls back. He flips up two slim, white packets, tearing both open. The sticky bits are loosened. In three strides (and his leg’s going to rebel later for today’s action), he’s by the downed Nomad. He slaps two padded tampons onto their wounds. “There, that ought to hold. Enjoy your prize.”

Laughter echoing around them, the Goliath scoops up their fallen friend, shouldering out of the door, the Marauder hot on their heels. Arsenal returns the gallery to what it is. The other lieutenants disperse. 

With any luck, Daltos will soon hear of his latest achievement and come down to congratulate him (that is, if he’s still not feeling down about breaking up with Ravs). Arsenal smiles, cleaning the pistols.

\--

#####  **the last vault hunter**

Arsenal caves in to the pleading from Klemm to let Minty’s Boner sleep in their room. Klemm’s the only bandit who he can trust with the baby kraggon. Daltos hasn’t even noticed Arsenal’s new pet yet. 

Minty’s latest gift is going to be treasured forever, even if it’s literally an excitable pile of rocks held together with some glowy alien shit. Minty’s Boner is his to keep, so he’ll take good care of it. He still hasn’t figured out what Boner won’t eat. For now, he tries to limit their diet to rocks. Rocks seemed to go down well.

Boner insists on licking his face before he bids them goodnight; Klemm wrestles the ‘rockball’ onto a spare cot before they can follow Arsenal back to his room. 

Chuckling at how adorable Boner is, Arsenal returns to his room for some shut-eye. Helped by a night light (literally a battery powered lantern that’s actually the dead robot’s eye), he strips down to his pants, climbing into bed. His left leg’s falling asleep before he does. Eyelids heavy, Arsenal twists and turns on the bed to get comfortable.

That is, until he spots a hooded silhouette crouched in the corner of his room. Arsenal’s hand wraps around a pistol, bringing it up to fire. The figure rolls forward, out of the way. He flings his blanket at them, gun moving to follow their agile form. The blanket’s dodged, the figure rolling onto their feet to stand by his bed.

Arsenal’s knack for quick drawing also extends to not shooting at the wrong moment. He squints at the figure. “Teep?” Nobody else he knows has a furry, hooded jacket like that (Daltos might have, for the cold campaigns).

“Hi,” Teep signs, with a laziness that indicates mild amusement in response to his reaction.

“How the fuck did you get into my room?”

“Dahl locks, predictably easy to break. Your sentries are also throwing a drinking party.” The signing is accompanied by a quirk of their head.

Arsenal puts away the pistol, making a mental note to steal the sentries’ cache of booze as punishment for skipping watch. “So, what brings you here?” He massages his left leg. Teep’s gaze appears to rest on said leg. They hand him the blanket he’d thrown at them.

“To say goodbye.” Their signing loses its amusement, becoming blunt.

Arsenal blinks, tucking the blanket around his legs. In their first meeting, Teep had kissed him, passing on a message from Minty. After that, he’d kept in touch, Teep brought him welcome news of the land beyond the frigate’s borders, land that Arsenal could no longer venture out to see. Aside from that, they’d put their heads together to trade skills about weapons and tech.

This confirms that Vault Hunters are quickly becoming another rarity as Hyperion closes on Pandora. Bandits would be next on the list, if only his kind weren’t so numerous and refused to be wiped out.

“You’re leaving Pandora?”

“No.”

“You’re going M.I.A., then,” Arsenal deduces.

“Will neither deny or confirm.” Teep shrugs. It bugs him, about the way the shrug feels a tad forced. They’re not telling him something. He’s not exactly a close friend but not a stranger either so he can’t go prying.

Arsenal supposes that he’s right. He can’t help but feel sad that almost everybody he likes is leaving, though none of them had planned it, it still hurts.

“I’m glad you dropped by to tell me. Be a shame, I liked hiring you to punch people for me.” He laughs, patting the bed. “Have a seat?”

Teep obliges. They sign, “Ravs says ‘goodbye’ as well.”

Before Arsenal can say anything, Boner scuffles and scratches at the door, emitting a rumbling whine. Arsenal limps over, opening the door. Boner waddles in, sniffing at Teep. 

Curious, Teep watches them for a moment, perhaps wondering if they’re under attack once Boner recognises them. Boner flops onto a boot, rolling over to expose a crack-riddled belly.

Teep pulls out a piece of skag jerky, dangling it above Boner’s mouth. It’s gobbled up in a snap. Arsenal grins, sitting on the bed. “You’ll make Boner fat.”

“Wild kraggons are natural gluttons anyway.” Teep feeds Boner a whole pack of skag jerky. Boner burps, contentedly curling up at their feet. Arsenal and Teep share an amused glance.

“How’s Ravs?” Arsenal asks, once he remembers to. 

A while back, Ravs had requested Daltos to send over a whole batch of dynamite. What he’d used it for, he hadn’t elaborated. Daltos had fulfilled the request. He hadn’t explained why he’d gone to that much trouble for Ravs. Arsenal puts it down to a soft spot that hasn’t hardened yet.

“He’s doing okay.”

“How’s he handling the breakup?” Arsenal recalls his own breakup with Minty. The two of them had handled it with surprising grace and maturity. Same goes for Daltos and Ravs. 

It’s a little worrying how Daltos hasn’t touched his smokes for weeks, staying in his room when he’s not coordinating the fighting.

“He’s stopped drinking so much,” Teep states. “It’s not like him to turn down an offer to drink with someone.”

“I bet his liver’s rejoicing,” Arsenal tries to joke. He can sense their mutual worry about their respective companions, under the surface of both their words. Actually, he wishes he got to know Teep better.

“He is, however, making twice as much booze,” Teep adds.

“Looks like I spoke too soon.” He laughs. Ravs is doing alright then. Daltos, on the other hand, needs an intervention. The sooner, the better. “You take care of Ravs, alright?” 

The two of them sit for about five minutes in relative silence.

Nodding eventually, Teep pats a snoring Boner on the head before opening the door to Arsenal’s room. “See you around, space bandit.”

“You too,” Arsenal softly says as they slip into the hallway, leaving him to his rest. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever see them again. His gut doesn’t provide any helpful clues about the future.

\--

#####  **minty’s boner and me**

I met the sweetest person when taking a walk near the borders today! Her name is ‘Zoeya’ and she’s studying Pandora’s animals. I think I’d like to show her Klemm’s hidden box of skag pups they’re hiding from Daltos.

She was driving around in a technical when she spotted Boner trying to eat roadkill and pulled over to ask me a couple of questions about them.

You know, I don’t actually know if Boner is a dude. I don’t think Boner cares. Boner’s Boner. She seemed a little disappointed I couldn’t answer shit, so I pointed her in Minty’s direction. That really cheered her up.

...I miss Minty. Having Boner around helps, but it’s not the same. Boner makes me think of her a lot. She probably wanted to help me get out of the frigate more by sending me Boner, which I get, and appreciate, but it’s hard because the kraggon’s got too much bloody energy for me to handle. I talk to her almost every week, but I still really want to meet her in person again.

I miss a lot of people.

As I was saying, Zoeya made a couple drawings of Boner. It was hard getting Boner to sit still, but skag jerky seems to do the trick. I think Boner‘s developed a real knack for finding people’s hidden stores of skag jerky, ever since Teep fed them some. 

I bet I could teach Boner a bunch of tricks. Just gotta figure out if Boner wants to learn. Boner’s pretty smart. They already know to come whenever I whistle. Zoeya said so. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. I let her pat Boner.

I also noticed that Boner’s still the same size as they were when Teep dropped them off, so I wonder if Boner will ever grow any bigger. They eat a lot too; I gotta tell people to stop feeding them stupid shit. It gives Boner gas. Boner doesn’t exactly ‘fart’, but they do throw up on my bed like a cat bringing me a present. They once threw up one of my wrenches. A  _ wrench _ ! I was looking for that last week.

Trouble is, the gang fucking adores Boner. If I’m busy, the units will literally brawl to kraggonsit for me. So, Boner knows practically everyone. Hanging out means food. At least I don’t have to worry about feeding Boner or keeping them out of trouble.

Boner loves me best, I’m pretty sure. Teep pointed out that maybe it thought I’m its parent or something. If parents can teach their kids stuff, then I’m pretty sure I can teach Boner some neat tricks, like how to rip a bandit’s foot off. Yeah, I think I’ll do that. 

It’ll also stop Boner from wanting walks all the time.

\--

#####  **dead bandit society**

In his lifetime, Lalnable’s seen all manner of occurrences fit to make a lesser person sink down onto their knees, turn green and want to throw up until their insides called it quits. It comes with the occupation. 

A surgeon’s bound to have stories and boy, does Lalnable  _ have _ them. He prides on possessing the most level head in the Three Horns region. If he wants to be a touch more arrogant, that could possibly include the entirety of the northwestern coast.

That said, Parvis has a way of smashing his composure. Parvis possessed a knack for stunts (pun not intended, it just happens to suit the situation perfectly) that did just that.

It’s like any other day. Sunny, hot enough to make a skag pant (skags don’t exactly pant, but the local saying captures the point nicely). In the confines of the clinic, Lalnable is organising his stock of supplies. Parvis is, as usual, proving more of a hindrance than a help, in his enthusiasm to assist.

And really, for the upteenth time that day, Lalnable wishes he could kick Parvis out. The only favor stopping him is that it’d be a bit like kicking a hyperactive puppy who doesn’t know any better. 

While Parvis doesn’t look anything remotely like an adorable puppy (more like an overgrown, gangly, shaggy dog that behaved like one), he’d still probably be hurt.

He sulks as though it’s going out of style and is doing his best to make a public statement through sulking alone, no words needed.

A stack of gloves go flying when Parvis’ hip bumps into them. “Whoops,” He mutters, already picking them up. 

Lalnable is already moving to intercept the next collision, courtesy of Parvis’ elbow brushing past a bunch of donated birth control, that’s mixed in with a shipment of aspirin. Unfortunately, the boxes are already ahead of him, on their way to the floor.

“Parvis, go and make some coffee,” Lalnable grounds out, making an attempt to not snap at him.

The hint to ‘go away’ flies past Parvis and harmlessly smacks into the wall behind him. “I did that before I came in here!” Parvis chirps, grinning and puff up with pride. He returns the boxes to their rightful places, stopping to pick up his other mess. 

Well, at least Parvis knows to clean up after himself. All Lalnable has to do is put it in the locked cupboards with everything else. He turns and begins to clear out a space for that lot.

“Give me the birth control,” Lalnable says, holding out a hand for them. When nothing’s handed to him, a quizzical glance is directed at Parvis. 

Parvis is frowning at one of the two boxes in his hands with an air of concentrated befuddlement. That’s not a look that Lalnable’s ever seen on him before. Parvis concentrating to do anything is as rare as a rakk hive stopping its rampage when asked to.

“Which one?” Parvis glances uncertainly between the boxes and Lalnable.

Lalnable makes an impatient huffing noise, walking over to grab the one out of Parvis’ right hand. “It’s clearly labeled ‘birth control’, can’t you  _ read _ ?” A stride across the room places the box in its rightful place. Lalnable returns to gather more up, the second that follows palpable. 

He’s too busy to notice the expression of shame on Parvis’ face. Just as quickly as Parvis had let it show, he recovers. “Oh, right, gotcha!” 

It must be Lalnable’s imagination, because Parvis sounds oddly relieved to have Lalnable point out which box it’d been. Still, it gnaws at his mind. It’s a puzzle. Lalnable isn't fond of puzzles but they happened to crop up more often in his life than not. It just so happens that he’s awfully good at them, when he wants to be.

There’s one way of testing what he suspects. Lalnable picks up the box labeled ‘aspirin’ and holds it out to Parvis. Parvis blinks at him, not suspecting that it’s a test. “What?”

“What does that say?” Lalnable inquires with the air of someone who has the solution figured out already, but first, would like the answer to be confirmed otherwise.

The same look from before flickers over Parvis’ face. Three seconds of contemplation deliver no answers to Parvis. Parvis lifts his head. The look on his face is now one of tortured helplessness.

Well, that solves that. The supplies can be sorted out later. This is more pressing. “Parvis, you are going to answer me honestly.” The box is tossed onto a counter.

“Um.” Parvis is shifting on the spot, looking incredibly nervous in a way that can only be described as ‘ready to bolt for the door in the next thirty seconds’. “I gotta go! Just remembered I left my guitar plugged in!”

Lalnable blocks the path to the door with his own body, hands on his hips. “Can you read?” He changes his tone so that he doesn’t sound as irate as Parvis thinks he is, only curious.

To be fair, he’s suspected a couple of times in the past but all those times had been brushed under the carpet. Running a clinic has a way of displacing all other concerns save the ones involving his patients.

Where Parvis looked about to run, now he looks scared. Parvis draws himself up, looking ready to argue that he can read; instead, he takes in a deep breath. “No, I can’t.”

“Then how did you know what to get me, all those times I asked you to grab stuff off the trolley?” Lalnable inquires. He just wants to be thorough; while it’s hard to be mistaken, this isn’t anything he wants to be wrong about. 

Deep down, the answer is what he already knows.

Parvis manages a half-grin. “I watched you and remembered what’s what.” Quickly, he adds as though he thinks it might appease him, “Sorry, I couldn’t help it!”

“You thought I wouldn’t let you help if I knew you couldn’t read,” Lalnable flatly concludes, giving Parvis a look that’s mildly impressed. 

There’s an obnoxious amount of tools in his clinic; for Parvis to have learned what each of them are is astounding, no easy feat. There’s also the fact that Parvis has never been a doctor, so there’s no way that he’d know what those tools are.

It just proves that Parvis proves more astute than anyone had ever thought. Parvis chews on his tongue, watching Lalnable like he thinks Lalnable might make him sit in the corner for lying to him, all this time.

“Am I in trouble?” Parvis asks, in a voice that lacks his usual bombastic attitude.

Lalnable blinks. “What–no, of course not, you’re not in trouble.”

Parvis fidgets, his boot rubbing against the other. “Oh.”

“I’m not going to throw you out for being illiterate.”

“Okay, because most people laugh at me, at this point. My gang doesn’t. A lot of them aren’t–” Parvis gestures. “They’re like me. Most can’t even write or read their own name.”

Lalnable is probably going to regret this, but Parvis looks like he’s going to die of embarrassment and shame in the next fews seconds. He sighs, offering bluntly, “Would you like me to teach you?”

“You? Teach me? How to read and write?” Parvis boggles at him, his mouth falling open.

“Yes, I’ll buy you a basic literacy kit. We can sit in my kitchen and go through it once a week.” Lalnable eyes Parvis for a reaction. 

Parvis’ grin spreads until Lalnable can see the front tooth that’s missing and the effort it takes for Parvis to contain his excitement. “Please!” He eagerly accepts, crossing the short distance between him and Lalnable.

Lalnable pretends to fail in dodging the hug forced upon him.

\--

Lalnable’s trip up to the Bloodshot Ramparts is primarily to check on his long-term patients. The clinic’s not built to handle those, so he moves them as soon as possible, to save on space. It’s fortunate and not, that his most frequent patients live in the dam.

The sentries guarding the metal wall surrounding the outside encampment know him by sight, admitting him with a couple of friendly waves and shouts. He finds his way inside, brushing off offers to help guide him to Parvis’ room.

He’s never been inside Parvis’ room, but if the rest of the dam is like the Bandit Lord residing in it, Parvis’ room probably matches the disaster that’s his home.

No music destroys the silence filling the hallways. Drawn in by the ongoing lack of eardrum destruction, Lalnable follows the silence.

He emerges into the concert room. What he sees takes his breath away.

The room’s been converted into a classroom of sorts; a massive screen (usually flashing a close up of Parvis’ ridiculous face as he belts out the lyrics to his latest hit) displays the basic alphabet and a standard list of numbers. Desks and chairs are grouped close to the screen, tilted to face it.

Concentrated chatter fills the room as bandits attend to their worksheets, frowning over writing letters in shaky, almost legible print. A few drift around the grouped bandits, helping out here and there by providing pointers, leaning down to have a brief conversations.

Parvis himself is leading the lesson in front of the group furthest from Lalnable.

Without a word, Lalnable turns on his heel and strides back the way he came. The sentires bid him goodbye, none the wiser about what he’d witnessed.

When Parvis gives him a surprise tour said room several months later, he appears to hold his breath, anxiously awaiting whatever conclusion Lalnable’s reached.

Lalnable nods. “Good job. Do you have room for one more teacher?” Parvis’ grin nearly makes Lalnable smile.

\--

“Scans came up clean, according to Elora.” Arsenal shakes the dented, brown cylinder she’d handed over to him. Trell’s sick in bed (for the second time in several years, so Elora’s taken over his mail route).

“What do you think it is?” Daltos nudges the end of the cylinder up so Boner can’t chew on it. Boner resorts to butting him in the back of the leg, unhappy about being foiled. 

Arsenal grimaces. “Let’s open it.”

“It’s from  _ Parvis _ so I don’t think it’s wise,” Daltos points out.

“I’m curious, you’re curious, Boner’s curious and he wouldn’t be so stupid as to send us a bomb,” Arsenal argues. Before Daltos can stop him, he pops the cylinder’s red lid open.

Daltos dives for cover, rolling behind a crate. Boner bounds after him, thinking it’s a game. They hop into his lap, or try to. He grumpily shoves them off, causing them to whine. They rest their head on his leg instead, panting.

Arsenal grabs a white edge, shimmying it out. He unfurls the poster that’d been carefully rolled up inside. 

“It’s a poster. Advertising literacy classes.” Arsenal has to fight a laugh; the poster’s a work of art, done in an antiquated style like it’s announcing a concert and not classes on a basic life skill. It also misses the intended audience but a lot of thought’s been put into its conception and execution. It’s actually rather artistically well done.

“Is he trying to humour me?” Daltos emerges from cover, deadeyeing the poster. Boner clacks around the floor, bored with the lack of excitement.

“I think he’s being genuinely serious and sincere about this,” Arsenal observes. “From what you’ve told me about him. So, you want to send any of our bandits over?”

Daltos snorts. “Why would I want my bandits to be able to read and write?”

“Maybe it’ll give you less grey hair when going over a map with them?” Arsenal suggests. “I can think of a couple of people who’d definitely be interested.”

“Alright,” Daltos caves. “You pick and send whoever you want, I’m going to Sjin’s.”

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Parvis: You sent me two lieutenants, yeah?

Arsenal: Yes, I indeedy did.

Parvis: The big guy and the guy who looks like he could bench press me fifty times?

Arsenal: It’s actually ‘they’ and ‘them’ for both, but if you forget, ‘he’ or ‘him’ will do in a pinch. They’re not as picky as other lieutenants.

Parvis: Oh, right, shit, sorry, um, sorry for swearing! And for the pronouns mixup!

Arsenal: Chill, so how’s Cant and Klemm doing in their first class?

Parvis: Great! We’re going over the alphabet now. It’s a bit hard for Cant since we don’t have a big enough of a pencil but we’ve given them the board and taped a marker to their hand, so it’s all good!

Arsenal: And Klemm?

Parvis: Klemm’s so patient! If they don’t get something, they want me to go over it again until they do! It’s fantastic!

Arsenal: Thanks for sending the poster. I got a couple of more bandits who want to join your classes. I’ll send them over next week, if that’s okay?

Parvis: Sure! We can always squeeze a few more in!

Arsenal: You want me to say ‘hi’ to Daltos for you?

Parvis: Um. Uh. You don’t  _ have _ to, but if you  _ do _ , it’d be  _ really _ appreciated. That is, if he remembers me?

Arsenal: Sure he remembers you!

Parvis: ...Ohmygod.

Arsenal: And so do the fifty other people who want to rip his head off. Oh, hey, what’s up, Daltos?

Parvis: I don’t want to rip Daltos’ very nice head off–hi!

Daltos: Are you still talking to Parvis?

Parvis: ...Excuse me, I’m gonna go and crush my nuts.

Daltos: ...Okay? Arsenal, what was that?

Arsenal: -is laughing too hard to be coherent-

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –


	2. part two.

#####  **twelve years a bandit (more like nine, but twelve sounded cooler)**

Holy shit, I found out where all my old ECHO logs and extra ration bars have disappeared to. Boner figured out how to get into my bedside crate and just about devoured everything in there. I don’t know if Boner will throw up all my logs? On the other hand, they’re definitely safe inside Boner. Guess I gotta figure out a way how to get my stuff back without harming them. Nobody’s touching Boner or I’m shoving a grenade up their ass.

So if whoever's listening notices any sort of missing entries or weird jumps, it’s probably a missing entry. And if you’re thinking about it, good luck getting them out of my baby kraggon. The kraggon bites anybody who’s not me, by the way.

\--

Okay, so Boner threw up one log. Progress.

\--

Anyway, Minty’s been sending me pics of this weird alien baby. It’s her new ‘godson’. She won’t tell me where she got him? His name is ‘Junior’. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if she hooked up with an alien. I don’t think she’d mind if I did that if I ever met an alien. Maybe this is why we can’t have nice things.

She also says she’s been hanging out with Hollie. Should I be jealous? Heck no, Minty’s her own person! I’m just glad Hollie’s keeping her company. There’s not a lot of folks who can put up with Minty being Minty. 

Junior’s the new deputy. They got a little hat, badge and everything! It’s fucking cute. Problem is, Minty’s gotta hide them whenever she hears of new folks coming around town. Fair enough. Lots of people want to make money by parading an alien baby in a freak show. She’s pretty protective of the little guy.

She’s also hired someone called ‘Zylus’. It took her a few years to tell me. I mean, I get what she’s worried about; I’ll go running to Daltos. Or she was worried that I’d rock up to Zylus’ doorstep and murder him.

She told me everything that happened to Zylus since he left the frigate. Turns out, he didn’t die out in the desert. A couple of Vault Hunters picked him up, nursed him back to health and got him back on his feet. He’s missing an eye and has a big chip on his shoulder, or whatever that saying is.

I guess I don’t hate Zylus? I feel like I should. He (or Daltos, depending on who you feel like listening to) got us stuck here. That’s all in the past and there ain’t no changing things. If I could go back in time, I definitely would change a bunch of things, like getting stuck here on Pandora. Or pulling the gun out of Daltos’ hand. It’s awkward being the person stuck in the middle.

It’s been years since I last met the fucker in person. Maybe it’ll all coming flowing back when we do meet. Trouble is, Minty’s played it smart and didn’t tell me where he lives or how he gets to Elpis.

I  _ think _ I know, but I got no way of checking. I also don’t  _ want _ to know.

Sad part is, Zylus used to be my buddy too. I used to make fun of him a lot, up until he looked like he was about to cry. Okay, I may have been something of a giant asshole to him. This is the part where I claim that he makes it too easy, and I try to talk my way out of feeling guilty, but I know exactly what I did.

He privately confessed to me he liked Daltos. At that moment, Daltos came around the corner. I believe I yelled at the top of my voice, “HEY DALTOS, ZYLUS WANTS TO EAT YOUR DICK.” 

Zylus pretty much clapped his hand over my mouth and hissed my name like he wanted to die on the spot. I licked his hand. He punched me. The funniest part was that Daltos didn’t even register it. He just walked right past us; apparently, he was talking to the ship A.I. when I yelled at him.

To make it up to Zylus, I gave him Daltos’ locker combination so he could sneak presents into it. I may have stolen a couple of cookies. Zylus makes good cookies! It took a month for Daltos to catch on that someone was leaving shit in his locker.

It was fucking hilarious when Zylus got sick of waiting for him to connect the dots, and things pretty much took off from that point on. I wasn’t around for that; I got the story from Daltos later, when I was harassing him for all the details.

I haven’t told anyone that story yet. I guess I wanted to share it before I forgot or something. Maybe I should just tattoo it to my chest. It’ll give someone a story to read around my chest scars.

Speaking of which, Minty lost the arm tattoo she got of me. She hid it using the Quick Change Station after she became a sheriff, just in case people caught onto her being a former bandit, which makes sense. People don’t seem to like bandits. I wonder why.

She wants a sexy picture of me to replace it. I told her I’m not as ‘sexy as I used to be’. She laughed and told me that she doesn’t care. Now I gotta do twice as much gym to get back into shape. She also recommended me a trio of troublemakers to contact if I ever needed some ‘odd’ jobs done.

Bless her.

\--

Huzzah, here comes another log! 

Bad news is, Boner’s got indigestion. I’m keeping them in a little jail in the corner of my room until they stop throwing stuff up. So far, I’ve recovered five nuts and bolts, my other bottle of painkillers, another wrench, boot laces, someone’s bottle opener and an unopened soup can.

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Daltos: Go away, Arsenal, I’m eating Ravs right now.

Arsenal: Does he taste good?

MintyMinute: I want some of that.

Daltos: He tastes terrible.

Ravs: My ravioli isn’t that terrible!

Arsenal: I’d like to eat Ravs too.

Ravs: Boner, no, down!

Daltos: Here, have some Ravs.

Boner: Burf!

Arsenal: Daltos should get a boner too.

MintyMinute: I would love to see his boner again.

Ravs: I miss it, a lot.

Daltos: Go fuck yourselves.

Boner: Burf!

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Arsenal: Goodnight, you assholes!

Cant: Cant!

Bucker: Cant, hold me.

Cant: Cant!

Hawker: NIGHTY NIGHT.

Hurricane: I think I need to throw up. Hawker, gimme your jacket.

Arsenal: Fuck, that’s the last time I drink too much at a bonfire. Hi Boner. Don’t trip daddy, daddy needs to crash in his bed. No, daddy’s leg is hurting. You need to stay on the floor today. What’re you trying to tell me? Is there a ghost? Heh, oh, uh. Shit. Second thought, you can hop onto the bed. Come here, boy! Up! Good boy, now why are you pulling the sheet, no, bad boy, that’s mine–AAHH.

Daltos: HOLY SHIT.

Arsenal: WHAT THE FUCK?

Daltos: Fucking hell–Arsenal!

Arsenal: -is laughing too hard to be coherent-

Daltos: -is laughing too hard to be coherent-

Arsenal: Down, boy! It’s okay, it’s just Daltos. Man, what are you doing in my room?

Daltos: ...I didn’t feel like walking back to my room, so I just crashed in your bed instead.

Arsenal: Shove over, then.

Daltos: Fine, but Boner stays on the floor.

Arsenal: You kidding? Boner’s a bed warmer. Almost as good as Ravs.

Daltos: Fine, but Boner stays on your side.

Arsenal: Yeah, yeah. Give me the sheet.

Daltos: Urgh, kraggon drool.

Arsenal: It’s not toxic!

Daltos: Just shut up and go to sleep.

Arsenal: Hey, Daltos. Psst. I got to tell you something.

Daltos: Arsenal, I need you to shut the fuck up and let me sleep.

Arsenal: But it’s really important!

Daltos:  _ What _ ?

Arsenal: Soooo, make me hot and I’ll hit the spot.

Daltos: …

Arsenal: …

Daltos: …

Arsenal: Come back! I won’t say any more stupid one-liners!

Daltos: Boner, get out of the way.

Arsenal: Aw, Boner wants you to stay.

Daltos: You’re just lucky I’m too drunk to open the door.

Arsenal: That’s right dear, come back to bed. It’s bad to go to bed angry.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

I got bored during a meeting:

  * to make merry with a marauder
  * to sin with a scavenger
  * to gander with a goliath
  * to run over a rat
  * to bust the bruiser
  * the nomad’s embrace
  * let me hunt your vault
  * mastering the minty (this one’s my favourite)
  * the wereskag that bit me
  * ravishing the ravs
  * dealing with the daltos



\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Arsenal: These are the driest chips in the world. You could sand your asshole with these.

Daltos: …

Arsenal: Here’s the butter you wanted. How about you slap that on your asshole for a natural, buttery lubricant.

Daltos: Stop ruining chips and butter for me.

Arsenal: You’re welcome!

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Ravs: You in the mood?

Daltos: Can’t. Stars. Not aligned.

Ravs: ...Fine.

Daltos: The sad noises you’re making ain’t going to get you pity sex.

Ravs: Dammit.

Daltos: Neither is trying to steal my book.

Ravs: We haven’t seen each other in two weeks!

Daltos: For fuck’s sake, you can wait until I finish this chapter!

Ravs: ...You liar, the stars  _ are _ aligned!

Daltos: Did you just seriously look up star charts to try to get laid?

Ravs: Yes.

Daltos: One more page.

Ravs: Sigh.

Arsenal: Can we crash in here?

Ravs: Oh, for–yes. Why are you crying?

Arsenal: These aren’t sad tears. They’re happy tears.

MintyMinute: I kept ruining the mood.

Arsenal: She wouldn’t stop going ‘you’re def in, boi’ in an enthusiastic voice and then, going ‘yeehaw’ in a deadpan voice.

MintyMinute: He wouldn't stop making the ‘I’m in’ joke.

Arsenal: She started it with ‘git in, boi’.

Daltos: I’m not going to get any reading done today, am I?

Ravs: Not if we’re all here.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Arsenal: Boobs, butts or guns?

Daltos: All.

Ravs: All.

MintyMinute: Butts.

Arsenal: This way, for ‘butts, boobs, and guns’. According to the sign, that is.

MintyMinute: Let’s go.

Ravs: Yeah! It can’t be a trap!

Daltos: ...You were saying?

Arsenal: I can’t believe three of us fell for that. Time to shoot some shit.

MintyMinute: Nobody tell anybody else we got fooled by a goddamned sign.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

#####  **homeward boner**

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Dornier: That’s it, get in the crate, you little shit.

Greif: Hurry up! Arsenal’s going to be back any second!

Dornier: He ain’t getting in! Look, I’ll smash you if you don’t get in the fucking crate.

Boner: Burf!

Hawker: What’re you doing over there?

Hurricane: Hey! That’s Arsenal’s bud! Hey there, little man, what’s up? That’s right, you like the belly rubs. I got my gloves on today so you can’t burn my baby skin!

Boner: Burf!

Dornier: Fuck off you two, I’m kraggonsitting Boner today!

Greif: Yeah, fuck off! You had your turn last week!

Hawker: Why’re you trying to stuff Boner into a carry crate?

Dornier: Fine, you really wanna know? This is gonna sound really sappy and shit, but I want to send Boner off to see the world. I got a couple of mates who’ll drive the little shit around and take cute pictures and we’ll send those pictures to Arsenal. It’ll be like one of those stuffed toy picture tours.

Hawker: ...That’s so cool!

Hurricane: We didn’t realise you were a decent guy all along.

Dornier: Uh, yeah, sure, hey listen, could you do a drop with Boner at these coordinates? Don’t tell Arsenal either, we want it to be a surprise.

Hawker: Sure! Anything for a dude who wants Arsenal to be happy.

Hurricane: Get it in the crate, Boner! It’s such a cool crate! Look, I’ll get in with you.

Hawker: You want me to lock you in there?

Hurricane: NO.

Hawker: Haha, then get out of there then!

Hurricane: We’re gonna fly you to a super cool place!

Boner: Burf? Burf!

Dornier: That’s right, fucking get rid of the little shit. That’s the last time it eats up all my fuel canisters.

Greif: I can’t believe those two idiots fell for that.

Dornier: Not a word of this to anybody, ever.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Arsenal: Boner! Daddy’s back. Boner? Stop hiding, I got a treat for you! I got somebody’s face here for you to maul! Boner? Boner? Boner? ...Boner? Oh. Oh,  _ shit _ .  _ Oh no _ , no, no, no.

– / / NOW SKIPPING AHEAD TO SECOND PART OF LOG. / / –

Daltos: I want all the Buzzard Boys on overhead patrol, looking out for Boner. I want a report in half an hour.

Arsenal: I’m gonna fucking kill whoever took Boner.

Daltos: Boner can’t have gone far.

Arsenal: Only four people know my room’s code. You, Minty, Ravs, and me. Nobody else can get into my room!

Daltos: You sure Boner didn’t get out?

Arsenal: Boner’s smart, but not that smart.

Daltos: You sure Boner doesn’t have any secret powers?

Arsenal: Daltos, Boner chases their own tail for about ten minutes if they see it. 

Daltos: Are you sure Boner’s smart?

Arsenal: I said Boner was smart, but not  _ that _ smart.

Daltos: We’ll find your kraggon. Come on, we’ll hang out on the bridge so we can get any first hand reports.

Arsenal: What if they never find Boner?

Daltos: We’ll find Boner.

Arsenal: That kraggon’s one of a kind. Minty’ll never let me forget it if I lose the stupid kraggon.

Daltos: Limp D, I need you to stop being so fucking pessimistic and fucking believe in the Buzzard Boys.

Arsenal: …

Daltos: What? You don’t like your new nickname?

Arsenal: What the  _ fuck _ did you just call me?

Daltos: Limp D! Look, it’s an amazing pun on your nonexistent dick, and ‘Skippy’ didn’t work for obvious reasons.

Arsenal: I’m not sure if I should punch you or kiss you for all that wordplay.

Daltos: Hey, Limp D is heaps better than Flirty Mcflirt or Dickripper.

Arsenal: Daltos, your nicknames suck.

Daltos: But it made you smile.

Arsenal: ...Yeah. It did. Thanks. But if you call me Limp D again, I’m peeing on your bed.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Lomadia: Hello there. What are you doing in this cage?

Boner: Burf!

Lomadia: You’re not a Pandoran native. Let’s see about that lock...Nilesy, can I borrow a hair pin?

Nilesy: Sure–what is that?

Lomadia: I’m not sure. I think it’s somebody’s pet.

Nilesy: Aw, you’re so friendly–it bit me.

Lomadia: Mister Owl, no, it’s friendly!

Boner: Burf!

Nilesy: I’m going to get a bandage.

Lomadia: It wasn’t a hard bite.

Nilesy: Fine, I won’t get one.

Lomadia: Little one, where are you going?

Boner: Burf!

Nilesy: I think it wants to go home.

Lomadia: Where’s your home?

Boner: Burf?

Lomadia: Fair enough, I wasn’t expecting much of an answer.

Nilesy: I think the little guy is pointing home.

Lomadia: You’re very clever. Do you want a lift?

Nilesy: It knows how to ride in a technical! Let me take a selfie, I want to send this to Ravs.

Lomadia: Alright. We’re dropping you off at the border.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Strippin: What the  _ hell _ is that?

Benji: I think it’s a rock dog.

Boner: Burf!

Strippin: Holy shit, it’s really a rock dog. Aw, it’s so cute, look at it!

Benji: Sit!

Boner: Burf!

Strippin: It knows tricks! Okay, roll over!

Boner: Burf!

Benji: Beg! Fetch!

Strippin: Benj, do we have any leftovers?

Benji: Hold on.

Strippin: What’re you doing in the desert? This ain’t no place for a cutie like you. Alright, I’ll give you a belly rub. Your belly’s real warm...

Benji: I don’t know if rock dog can have the meatloaf–well, that answers that. You just ate it up in three seconds flat.

Boner: Burf!

Strippin: His tail’s wagging! What a happy guy. You give him scritches, I’m just going to run my hand under a cold tap for a bit.

Benji: You must be well trained if you’re not biting.

Strippin: I don’t think we can keep him.

Benji: But! But! But! Strippin!

Strippin: Look, somebody out there’s looking for this dog. We need to help them find him. We drop him off with a courier. They’ll probably know what to do.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Elora: You like riding in the mail bag, don’t you?

Boner: Burf!

Elora: Somebody’s bound to recognize you. Look, this here’s our first stop.

Trottimus: WHAT IS THAT?

Alsmiffy: IT LOOKS INCREDIBLE.

Ross: I WANT TO SNIFF ITS BEHIND.

Trottimus: Ross, don’t be disgusting!

Ross: I don’t know why I said that.

Alsmiffy: Can I pet him?

Elora: Sure! I don’t think he bites. Hard.

Alsmiffy: I got gloves on. 

Ross: What is it?

Trottimus: It looks like a kraggon.

Elora: A kraggon?

Trottimus: It’s a rock thing from Elpis. What’s a baby one doing on Pandora?

Elora: I think it’s somebody’s pet. I’m trying to find who it belongs to.

Alsmiffy: Oooh, you like the scratches! Yeah, that’s right, enjoy the scratches! I got plenty of them for you, you rough boy!

Ross: Why don’t you ever scratch me like that?

Alsmiffy: Ross, you smell weird, you do weird things, you look weird. You gotta be as cute as this dude to get scratches.

Ross: I can be cute!

Trottimus: Thanks for the mail. Oi! Knock off the belly scratches!

Elora: Do you know what kraggons eat?

Trottimus: People. But they’ll eat anything, really.

Ross: Here, have Alsmiffy’s tie.

Alsmiffy: NO, MY TIE. Good thing you’re too cute for me to set on fire. But Ross, you look like you could use a new set of eyebrows.

Boner: Burf!

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Sjin: I say! You keep that thing far away!

Elora: Sigh, this kraggon doesn’t bite.

Sjin: I don’t want it anywhere near Elsa!

Elora: Is Sips here?

Sjin: Sips! Mail!

Zips: …

Elora: Sips! You look a little different!

Zips: …

Elora: Sore throat today, huh? Here’s your mail. Whatever happened to your secretary?

Sjin: Busy making sure Elsa doesn’t come anywhere near that...thing of yours.

SherlockHulmes: Elsa, please stop clawing me, I don’t know what’s making you so upset.

Boner: BURF!

Elora: NO, COME BACK, LEAVE THE CAT ALONE!

SherlockHulmes: AAAHHH!

Sjin: NO, ELSA, THAT’S MY FACE!

Zips: Haha!

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Xephos: How did you find us?

Elora: I’m a courier, it’s what I do!

Honeydew: You got any mail for me?

Xephos: Us, he means.

Elora: I do!

Honeydew: A rock friend! Here, have some shiny rocks.

Xephos: Honeydew, you can’t go feeding strange things strange rocks!

Elora: Oh no, it’s fine, Boner’s got a stomach made of bottomless steel. They already ate a grenade, a tie, a houseplant, a bit of cat, some day old meatloaf and it doesn’t appear to be hurting them.

Boner: Burf!

Xephos: Also, why do you have rocks on you?

Honeydew: To throw at things.

Xephos: You can’t just–nevermind. Thanks for delivering the mail. Looks like it’s just more advertisements. Here, rock friend, why don’t you have these too?

Boner: Burf!

Honeydew: What were you saying about feeding strange things strange things?

Xephos: Hush, you. Safe travels, courier.

Honeydew: Safe travels!

Elora: You too!

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Elora: Hi doc! Just one package for you, direct from Elpis.

Lalnable: It’s Lalnable.

Elora: Do you by any chance, know this little guy?

Lalnable: No, that’s not my dog. You should get away before–

Parvis: DOG!

Sparkles: DOG!

Kogie: DOG!

Leo: DOG!

Elora: ...I guess they really like dogs?

Lalnable: Ignore them. Now, about this package, did Hollie include any instructions about it?

Elora: Hold on, they’re getting too excited. Let me extract them from the mailbag before they fall out.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Ravs: Come on in, Sanctuary Hole’s always open to the couriers!

Elora: Thank you! You ought to fix that bridge of yours, it’s a bit wobbly.

Ravs: It ain’t my bridge, it was already here when I bought the place. 

Elora: It’s bound to collapse at some point if you hit it right.

Ravs: I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Hey, you brought a friend today! ...Wait, what’s Boner doing with you?

Elora: You know this little guy? Sorry, he’s tuckered out. Parvis and the others had a two hour game of fetch going on before I could pry him away.

Ravs: I do! Boner belongs to a friend on the east coast. What’s he doing so far away?

Elora: I picked him up from a couple of mechanics out in the Dust. Been going around trying to find out if anybody knows who he belongs to. I’m glad I came to you!

Ravs: Should be easy. I’ll let him know you found him. My friend’s been worried sick.

Elora: How do we get him home?

Ravs: Hm...can I technically put a stamp on Boner?

Elora: You can. I think. Let me ask my boss...he says yes. We deliver ‘anything’.

Ravs: You really do live up to your motto. Then it’s settled! I’m sending Boner home. Keep him safe. If you want a free drink from hereon out for helping my friend, let me know.

Elora: Thanks, that’s very kind of you!

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Elora: Special delivery for Arsenal!

Arsenal: BONER!

Elora: He’s home!

Arsenal: Never leave me again, you stupid, idiotic–

Boner: Burf! Burf! Burf!

Arsenal: What the hell have you been eating? You’re fatter than usual. If you’re gonna throw up, do it on Dornier’s boots.

Elora: He’s certainly happy to see you!

Arsenal: He was gone for too long. Elora, was it?

Elora: Yes?

Arsenal: Thank you.

Elora: Oh, no problem! I’m just glad he got home safe. There’s a lot of nasty things out there.

Arsenal: Ha, shit couldn’t eat Boner! I’ve seen skags try. Boner’s too hard for them.

Elora: …

Arsenal: Pun not intended.

Elora: Well, I got to go. These letters don’t deliver themselves.

Arsenal: Hold up, if you give me your gun, I’ll give it a special paint job. I don’t usually offer it to non-bandit folks, but seeing as you found Boner and all...you don’t have to. I just don’t got much I can pay you back with.

Elora: Wait, are you talking about all those guns with the stuff painted on them that bandits carry?

Arsenal: Yeah?

Elora: Those are the  _ sweetest _ paint jobs I’ve ever seen. You do all these by hand?

Arsenal: Yeah, I do.

Elora: Holy  _ fuck _ , yes, please do my gun for me.

Arsenal: Great! I’ll do as many guns as you want, heck, you can even bring all your friends’ guns to me. I only got enough paint left for five guns, mind.

Elora: If I bring you some more paint, will you do some more?

Arsenal: How about we trade? Paint for painted guns.

Elora: Sounds fair. Alright, I’ll drop off my other gun tomorrow!

Arsenal: Safe travels! Say bye, Boner!

Boner: Burf!

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

#####  **guardians of the frigate, vol two**

Arsenal wakes to his pinging ECHO device being nudged by an inquisitive Boner. Boner’s nubby snout is pressed to the device, stubby tail wagging nonstop. Arsenal reaches over to the edge of the bed, snapping his fingers. Boner pushes the device across the floor into his hand. He pats Boner, sleepily mumbling praise.

“Hey, what’s all the ruckus?” He can hear bandits stomping around in the hallway beyond his room. There’s an awful lot of yelling, more so than usual. “Somebody set the kitchen on fire again?”

Arado’s dry voice sighs. “Look, man, don’t get too upset.”

“About what?”

“Daltos is being kidnapped by Vault Hunters.”

Arsenal nods, before his eyes widen. His blood runs cold. “Wait,  _ what _ ?”

“Right now, in fact,” Arado says, absently commanding a few units to round up the other lieutenants off their break and join the hunt.

“Have you tried calling Daltos?”

“He ain’t answering,” Arado says, impatiently. 

Arsenal checks that he’s got his shield equipped, plus his best pistol. His ECHO device despawns. “I’m headed for the bridge.” He tries the door–blocking the doorway is a shipping container. In his mind, the conversation rewinds to the beginning. “Arado, you fucking  _ cunt _ , you blocked my room off!”

“Look, I said not to get too upset!” Arado snaps. “These Vault Hunters aren’t taking any prisoners!”

“They have Daltos! Get him back!”

“We’re trying! They got a fucking Siren with them and she keeps summoning tentacles all over the place!” Something heavy hits the wall with a thud. Someone screams, in the background.

“Use the pyro units!” Arsenal shoves against the box. It’s metal, too heavy for him to shift on his own.

“Look, I’ll let you out of your room when this is all over, okay?” Arado drops the call on Arsenal’s cursing.

Arsenal removes his hand from his ear. Boner regards him solemnly, their tail having stopped wagging. “Okay, we come up with a plan.” He flattens his mouth into a line. “Well,  _ I _ come up with a plan.” 

The only exit and entrance to his room’s blocked off. There’s the vent, but it’s too high for him to reach. Getting his left leg to cooperate in that kind of space is going to be a massive miracle.

Gotha’s not answering. Neither is anyone else, who’s currently at the frigate. They all must be busy hunting down Vault Hunters. Arsenal listens to the din move further upstairs, accompanied the telltale rattle of muffled gunfire. They must be moving towards the Buzzard platforms.

On his map, he spots one lieutenant who hasn’t moved from the cargo bays. Arsenal dials Cant’s ECHO device. Cant did have an ECHO device, which proved useful for relaying orders over long distances, though it’s largely one-way communication.

Cant answers. “Cant!” Their agitated voice fills Arsenal with relief. 

“Cant, I need you to find me at my room,” Arsenal instructs.

“Cant!” Arsenal doesn’t have a knack for reading Cant’s words but he knows an affirmation when he hears one.

“Please hurry.”

Five minutes later, Arsenal hears the shipping container grind as it’s shoved past his doorway. That’s gonna be a hell to fix. He opens the door. Cant’s bouncing on the spot, buzz axe adding to the mess of the floor.

“Carry me up to the Buzzard platforms!” Before he finishes, Cant’s already despawning the buzz axe, cradling him in their arms like they did months ago. Boner sprints behind the two, barking the entire time. He forgot to tell Boner to stay behind, too focused on running worse case scenarios through his mind.

With every step, Arsenal’s left leg bounces. He ignores the pain, desperately hoping that he’s not too late. The scenes of carnage greet him. The Vault Hunters left behind a bloody trail, bodies, bullet holes, scorch marks, purple muck and all sorts of destruction in their wake. 

Cant puts him down (gently). Arsenal stumbles forward, shoving lieutenants and bandits out of his way. He emerges onto the platform, falling onto his hands and knees. 

When he looks up, he spots the four Buzzards escaping, the other Buzzards wrecked and smoking. Hawker and Hurricane are screaming obscenities, as with Dornier for their beloved machines being reduced to a pile of charred spare parts and useless, nearly unsalvageable scrap.

He sees Daltos, being carried by a Loader, and Arsenal already knows that it’s too late to do anything but watch.

\--

#####  **bandits of pandora**

Bucker touches Arsenal’s shoulder. “Arsenal?” 

Upon hearing his name. Arsenal shakes his head, tearing his gaze away from the spot where the stolen Buzzards had flown. All he can see in his mind is Daltos, leaning out of the Loader’s arms to shout last orders that nobody can hear. He’s gone. He’s really gone.

Without turning around, he knows Bucker is throwing Arado a worried look; Arado resorts to kneeling before Arsenal. “I’m sorry. We failed.” They remove their helmet, letting him seeing the weight of failure on their face.

Arsenal scrubs his face with a hand, determined to hold it together, because nobody, not even him, had ever expected Daltos to be removed so completely from their operations in one fell swoop. 

To be honest, Arsenal expected death, not a messy kidnapping by Vault Hunters to do the job.

He refuses the hand being held out to him, unsteadily climbing to his feet. The first step is brutal; he stumbles. Hands stretch out to catch him if he falls. Arsenal grits his teeth, correcting his next step to account for his shitty gait. He ignores said hands, dragging the pain with him as if it’s a ball and chain. It might be a dead weight, but it’s not going to stop him, not this time.

The confusion spreading amongst the bandits leads those in his way to step aside, granting him a clear path to the bridge.

Arsenal bypasses it, entering the war room. Or what’s left of it. The table’s gone, as with the detailed map of Pandora Daltos had made. In the middle of it, is a scorched series of floor panels. Arsenal stops at the doorway, leaning against it, mentally cataloguing every bit of evidence pointing towards the fight.

He regrets not attending the meeting. Now is not the time to be guilty. Daltos would already be planning his next move. Arsenal leans down, spotting a speck of white sitting in a puddle of red. 

It’s a tooth.

Arsenal picks it up, tracing it with his thumb. It’s obvious who it belongs to. He despawns it, turning his back on the room.

All of the Blitzkrieg Blighters’ lieutenants have filed onto the bridge, awaiting his attention. Each of them sport the signs of trying their hardest to retrieve Daltos. All except for him. Conversation dies when he approaches.

Arado steps forward, despawning his helmet. Arsenal knows what has to happen; the two need to decide who’s in charge. They’d talked about this, with Daltos. Daltos had mentioned that someday, he might not be around to keep the gang going. In such a situation, Arado and Arsenal are to ‘take over’.

Bandits tend to settle this with duels. One winner, no draws, one loser.

Arsenal steps up. The two turn, backs almost touching. It’s ten paces taken in the opposite direction on the same vertical line. The two turn, facing one another. Remaining on the sidelines, Bucker remains in the middle, raising a hand.

It falls. Arsenal and Arado draw.

“Fuck!” Arado screams, throwing down their hand that’d snapped into ‘scissors’. 

Unable to believe it, Arsenal thrusts his hand (stuck in the shape of ‘rock’) into the air. “I fucking win!” He would have run around the room, punching the air, but doesn’t. He holds his hand out to Arado.

Shaking their head, Arado laughs. “You won fair and square, Arsenal.” In a more sober tone, they ask, “So, what do we do now?”

Arsenal shakes his head, quietly saying so that all the lietuenatns can hear him, “We continue. He’d want that.”

\--

#####  **finding daltos**

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

MintyMinute: I’m sorry, I don’t know where he is.

Arsenal: It’s okay. I figured I’d just ask, on the off chance that you did know.

MintyMinute: Before you also ask, he didn’t leave a message or anything with me.

Arsenal: Yeah, okay.

MintyMinute: How’s the gang handling it?

Arsenal: Not so well. They all know I’m in charge now, but it’s still pretty tough. People keep challenging me. I’m gonna run out of bullets at this rate.

MintyMinute: Let’s talk to Ravs.

Arsenal: Haven’t spoken to him in a while. Sure.

Ravs: What’s wrong?

MintyMinute: Some Vault Hunters stole Daltos.

Ravs: ...Arsenal, are you okay?

Arsenal: I–I don’t know.

MintyMinute: Ssh, it’s okay. Keep it together– 

Arsenal: I shouldn’t have napped. I should have been there, I shouldn’t have left him alone in the war room. I should have–

MintyMinute: Arsenal–

Arsenal: What if he thinks I failed him?

Ravs: You didn’t fail him.

Arsenal: How do you know I didn’t fail him? I didn’t even try to save him!

Ravs: He wouldn’t think or say that.

Arsenal: You don’t know him like I do!

Ravs: ...I know him plenty well.

Arsenal: ...I’m sorry. That wasn’t nice of me.

Ravs: It’s alright. You’re not at your best right now.

MintyMinute: Do you know who took him?

Arsenal: No!

Ravs: You said ‘Vault Hunters’.

Arsenal: I didn’t think there were any left after Hyperion’s purge.

Ravs: There's a few floating around. I’ll ask and get back to you.

Arsenal: Thanks. If you do find anything, please tell me.

Ravs: I can come over to help you sort things out.

Arsenal: No, I need to handle this.

Ravs: ...Alright.

MintyMinute: Don’t be a stranger, you hear?

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

#####  **saving captain daltos**

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Daltos: Arsenal, you there?

Arsenal: Daltos! Thank fuck, I thought you were–what’s wrong? You sound weird. Really, really weird. Like you’ve been sick.

Daltos: Yeah, well, a couple of things happened.

Arsenal: Where are you?

Daltos: Somewhere.

Arsenal: No, seriously, what’s wrong?

Daltos: I can’t tell you where I am.

Arsenal: ...Bullshit. Is someone listening to you talk? Just say ‘yes’ or ‘no.

Daltos: Nobody’s making me talk.

Arsenal: Then start talking.

Daltos: Zylus.

Arsenal: What about him?

Daltos: He ordered the kidnapping.

Arsenal: ...I see.

Daltos: It’s pretty bad. He  _ hates _ me.

Arsenal: You hate him too. Look, let me come and get you and then we’ll kill Zylus and those Vault Hunters.

Daltos: No.

Arsenal: Why not?

Daltos: You can’t kill him. Not yet.

Arsenal: Quit stalling. What the fuck is wrong with you?

Daltos: I’m not well at the moment.

Arsenal: Is that why you sound weird? You sound a little dead.

Daltos: Vault Hunters did something to my heart. It’s not beating right. Zylus called a doctor to look at me.

Arsenal: Oh, so first he kidnaps you, wants to kill you and then does a one eighty.

Daltos: He didn’t kidnap me, that was Vault Hunters, and secondly, I don’t think he wants to kill me.

Arsenal: Yet. What do you think he wants from you?

Daltos: Revenge. I think.

Arsenal: You  _ think _ ?

Daltos: Look, I haven’t seen him in years! I don’t know what he wants! Or why he’s coddling me!

Arsenal: But you know what  _ you _ want.

Daltos: ...Yeah. How’s the frigate?

Arsenal: Fixed. It was mostly cosmetic damage. Nothing critical was damaged. Nice try, but don’t change the subject. You want to get the fuck out of there and come back to the gang.

Daltos: Alright, I’ve been trying to keep this a secret, but you know the engine rooms?

Arsenal: Yeah. Didn’t they get locked down after the mutiny?

Daltos: I lied. They didn’t get locked down because of the hull breach during the crash landing. That was me.

Arsenal: Alright. What else have you lied about?

Daltos: I don’t go to stand outside to smoke. I’ve been trying to fix the frigate.

Arsenal: That’s a pretty longass fucking time to spend fixing the fucking thing. And you’ve been doing it all by yourself?

Daltos: ...Pretty much.

Arsenal: You ass, I could have helped you!

Daltos: I didn’t want you to think I was nuts for trying! And it’s a secret. Everybody else would think I’m going insane from the stress of running a gang.

Arsenal: Your secret is safe with me.

Daltos: The frigate’s been fixed for months now. Zylus has the final part. He stole it after we fought. After I get it back, the frigate should fly.

Arsenal: You motherfucking bastard. I. I can’t even. You’ve been sitting on this for  _ years _ . No wonder why you wanted Zylus alive. All those trips to Blohm and Voss weren’t just inspection trips. You were trying to get spare parts, plus that whole cosying up to Sjin deal.

Daltos: I’m sorry, for keeping it from you.

Arsenal: Nah, I’m just glad you finally told me.

Daltos: I need you to keep the gang alive until I come back. I don’t know when I’ll be back.

Arsenal: We’re beginning to head onto the west coast. If I do this right, nobody can stop us.  _ Nobody _ .

Daltos: ...You’re doing great. I need to go before Zylus finds out I’ve contacted you.

Arsenal: Wait! Before you go, Daltos, I...it’s good to hear from you.

Daltos: ...I’ll come back.

Arsenal: You  _ have _ to come back. I don’t know if I can keep the gang going for so long without you.

Daltos: I’ll try.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

The truth is, I don’t know if I can keep going without you.

\--

#####  **arsenal and arado’s excellent adventure**

The decision to entrust Arado with the west coast campaigns stems from a practical and logical mindset. Arsenal can’t leave the frigate for any long stretches of time. His left leg vehemently protests any sort of movement requiring him to physically exert himself beyond walking up and down a hallway three times. 

Arado’s the only other lieutenant Daltos trusts with running day to day affairs aboard the frigate. If Arado’s first (baby) campaign hadn’t turned out so victorious, Arsenal suspects that Arado wouldn’t have ever dared to show their face beyond the Dahl Headland. It’s cast aside Arado’s underlying paranoia and instilled the beginnings of confidence. Arsenal’s underestimated how much tactics Arado’s learned from hanging around Daltos.

Besides, Arado plays the part of Bandit Lord so well that other gangs think that Arado’s taken over the mantle for Daltos. Not true; Arsenal’s at the helm in the background, coordinating the assaults paving the way for future conquests, once Daltos returns from that mission of his. 

He still hasn’t told the other lieutenants, staying true to his word. Nobody’s given up on Daltos, and Arsenal tries to keep them all busy so that nobody is going to go haring off on some wild, futile chase to find their missing leader. 

Arado suspects that he knows. Arado’s keeping their mouth shut; maybe they know that Daltos wouldn’t abandon the gang without excellent reason. Arsenal won’t correct them on that assumption.

Mostly, his time’s spent keeping the gang together. He’d also grossly underestimated how much shit Daltos has to put up with, from stopping Hawker, Hurricane and Dornier’s eternal pissing contest from entering ‘lethal prank’ territory, making sure Arado and Bachem don’t murder each other when working together, keeping Klemm from adopting stray skag pups and upsetting Fieseler, to listening to Bucker and Cant’s reports, checking that the far territories aren’t planning a rebellion of their own, keeping Daltos’ disappearance a secret, regaining the stolen million dollars, plus a bajillion other time-consuming, mind-numbing but critical tasks.

Gotha’s funeral put a giant damper on everybody’s spirits. Nobody recovered a body, let alone a helmet. Arsenal doesn’t know why Gotha got it into their head that it’d be a smashing idea to go and tear up the Bloody Bandits’ stronghold. He blames himself for not keeping a sharper eye on them, trying hard not to compare himself to Daltos.

Maybe Gotha’s always held it against Parvis for proposing the truce (Daltos always claimed it always his intention to broke one in the first place). Maybe Gotha got the wrong set of orders. Maybe Gotha felt like testing the boundaries with a new Bandit Lord ruling.

As far as Arsenal knows, Gotha’s obedience had been secured the second he and Daltos held them at gunpoint. Holding a berserking Goliath’s unheard of; he and Daltos had proved the impossible’s possible.

Siebel survived the dam incident by retreating once the Bloody Bandits brought out their rocket troops. They’d put together a shaky, albeit detailed report. Arsenal’s reading it for the tenth time in the war room, boots propped up on the new war table. A half-empty bottle of rakk ale makes the experience twice as bearable.

There’s no such thing as a regular sleeping schedule when it comes to being a Bandit Lord. Arsenal skims the section going into Vault Hunters being spotted atop the dam. Ravs is tight-lipped on the issue. If he’s trying to spare the Vault Hunters from his wrath by banking on his friendship with Arsenal, he’s succeeding.

Problem is, Arado and the other lieutenants liked Gotha. They want blood. Arsenal’s diverting that cry for blood elsewhere. Aside from the distraction, they all know what Ravs is capable of, with or without sufficient motivation.

Without meaning to, Arsenal’s mind flits back to the one night in the mess hall, where Ravs had beat a lieutenant to death with his bare hands, all in the name of rooting out a backstabber who’d picked the wrong moment to try to ambush Daltos.

Unfortunately, Ravs took exception, ignoring Daltos and Arsenal trying to pull him off. The way the dead lieutenant’s brains had splashed across the dull tiles still makes Arsenal avoid anything vaguely slimy, grey colored, and smelled of putrefying guts.

Arado slips into the war room. Arado patrols the second phase of night, sticking to their previous routine. Arsenal’s also handed over the job of contacting Sjin for support, based on Daltos’ tentative set of orders.

Until he comes back, they are not to cut Sjin loose; Daltos will deal with him personally then.

Talking to Sjin makes Arsenal uneasy, his trigger finger becoming restless whenever his ECHO device patches a call through. Sjin always smiles like he’s toying with him. Whenever Arsenal tries to find out the precise nature of Sjin’s relationship with Daltos (namely, the topic of the two’s in-person meetings), Sjin swiftly changes the topic.

Arsenal’s concluded that the two had stopped meeting over a gross misunderstanding. It doesn’t take three bandits to smash rocks together to produce pebbles (the answer is exactly one Goliath), nor does it take much to figure out that Sjin had been trying to subtly groom Arsenal’s best friend.

Personally, Arsenal would love to smack Sjin down for pulling that stunt. He’ll stick to Daltos’ wishes in keeping Sjin stocked with bandits for that ‘eridium mine’ of his, and they’ll just keep mooching off Sjin for a little while longer.

Weirdly, Arado didn’t mind Sjin. Sjin should have set off Arado’s trap senses tingling ablaze like a necrophage plant spore getting into someone’s mouth. Arado’s rather open about what he talks to Sjin about, compared to the other.

“You should go crash,” Arado grunts. They hover by the war room table. This is Arado’s favourite haunt in the frigate, if they’re not in the mess hall devouring rakk bits.

“Nah, I got a puzzle to work out.” Arsenal taps Siebel’s report with a gloved finger. “Something bugs me, about the way Gotha went off on their own.”

“That ain’t like them,” Arado agrees. “Everybody else agrees.”

“You think we got a traitor?” Arado tilts their head, dark eyes flashing in the dim light of the room. The neon lighting that Daltos prefers gives Arsenal a headache, so Arsenal had it retrofitted to make the room more ‘romantic’ during meetings.

“Gotha takes orders from only you, or me,” Arsenal observes. “And I don’t think I’m the traitor.”

“You’ve been too busy to backstab us,” Arado says.

“That’s nice of you.” Arsenal despawns the report. Something in Arado’s jaw flexes. Arado yawns. “Maybe you should crash too.”

“My patrol ain’t done for another two hours.”

“We got bandits up at all hours. There’s nothing to worry about. This place is locked down tighter than a spiderant colony.” He shrugs.

“Daltos went missing during my patrol,” Arado admits, staring at the wall past Arsenal’s head.

Arsenal stares at them for about ten seconds. He grins. “You wanted to check up on me to make sure I wasn’t being kidnapped.”

Arado snorts, rubbing the back of their bald head. “Look, it’d be pretty embarrassing if two of our Bandit Lords get kidnapped twice in a row.”

“Nobody’s interested in kidnapping little ole me. I’m practically useless.” Arsenal laughs. “Who the hell wants to keep a handicapped bandit around?”

“Daltos did,” Arado points out.

“Daltos did that because he’s a sentimental, stubborn, and oblivious fuck,” Arsenal sighs. He misses the bastard. 

It’s gotten better once Daltos began to keep in touch, however irregular his messages end up being. His last one was several weeks ago, short, succinct and straight to the fucking point: see this doctor called ‘Lalnable’ to get your leg sorted out, will make house calls, just ignore his looks, he can be trusted, and he’s good at his job.

“I miss him too.” He doesn’t recall saying that out loud.

“It ain’t hard to see.” Arado leaves it at that. Arsenal raises an eyebrow. He had no idea Arado kept such a close eye on him to pick up that so easily.

He realises why Gotha went off to pick a fight with Parvis. Gotha wanted to keep everything exactly the way it was until Daltos returned, and if not, obliterate whatever stopped that from being possible. The Vault Hunters had merely been in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Arsenal suspects that these are the same Vault Hunters who kidnapped Daltos. While Siebel hadn’t been close enough to spot exactly who was present, they’d noted the presence of a Siren with purple tattoos facing down Gotha.

He’s going to have to personally shake down Ravs for why Ravs is hiding a Siren in Sanctuary Hole, or why one turned up to the Bloodshot Ramparts. 

Unfortunately, the current mayor is a prick named Turpster, former Lynchwood sheriff and bandit hater. That makes visiting Ravs difficult. This is not the kind of conversation Arsenal likes holding over ECHO.

Maybe Ravs can drop by to solve that mystery. Arsenal makes a mental note to see if Ravs is up for a chat. Minty’s not available (she’s asleep) to hear him out.

He could talk with Arado, but Arado’s lower rank than he is, at the moment. It wasn’t a problem when they were both lieutenants but now it’s awkward discussing what’s happening in his head. 

If this was how Daltos felt, Arsenal finally gets why he never opened up to him about his thoughts once Ravs and Minty left.

\--

The call comes after a bout of rain that leaves the frigate fully stocked with water for three months. Bandits are congregating around the water collectors, carrying off buckets to be filtered and stored. Arsenal’s supervising the operation from an airlock, a drowsy Boner wrapped around his right leg.

He steps out of the coil that’s Boner’s body and tail, towards the back of the cargo bay. Somebody’s calling him. It’s not anybody he knows.

“Hey, who’s calling?” He demands. Nobody answers him for about two seconds. Annoyed, he snaps, “If this is another prank call from Hawker and Hurricane, I’m going to-”   
  
A Loader’s monotone states, “Come to the clearing at these coordinates if you want information about Daltos’ whereabouts. I’m at the clearing for twenty minutes. After that, you’ve lost your chance.” The call drops without letting Arsenal probe for more information.

Coordinates to the aforementioned clearing flash across his HUD. Arsenal spends a few moments breathing to calm his confusion and ire, glad that nobody else is near him to have overheard that particular conversation.

His first thought is Daltos. Daltos must have succeeded and offed Zylus at last, but he wouldn’t see the need to disguise his voice, not unless he got into trouble. Daltos would also word his request in a cryptic manner, or be upfront about why he’d called so weirdly.

This didn’t seem like the sort of prank Ravs or Minty would pull. Their pranks tended to be honest, having as much subtlety as a slap to the ass.

Hat Corp. wouldn’t cross a Bandit Lord. Nobody in Arsenal’s list has sufficient motivation to do that, not unless it’s somebody Arsenal doesn’t know, when he sorts through the criteria.

They know that Daltos is missing, which the Blitzkrieg Blighters have taken enormous pains to keep secret. They know where Daltos is located, another secret that’s privy to a select few.

Arsenal has to show up to see who it is and if they’re worth eliminating. He ECHOs Hawker, Hurricane and Arado, telling the three to round up their units and meet him on the rooftop to head off. 

He’ll spin a lie to them about this; everybody knows that it took more than a vague call to budge Arsenal from the frigate.

Glancing at his inventory reveals that he has about ten painkillers left. Arsenal downs one, listening to the gut feeling that he’ll need it for what’s in store.

\--

The clearing is tiny by bandit standards. It’s one of Arsenal’s old hangouts, back when the gang had began as a small crew of former soldiers, convicts, a Dahl captain and a lieutenant seeking to survive the horrors of Pandoran wilderness. Too many died here in this clearing, from hypothermia, starvation, infection and violence.

He hangs around for about twenty minutes, not giving away why he’s here until his bandits start. It doesn’t take much to startle a bunch of easily upset and emotional bandits. 

Almost a second too late, he glances in the direction of what’d caused them to react. Setting his jaw, Arsenal watches a Vault Hunter step into the clearing.

That face. He  _ knows _ that face. In Arsenal’s worst nightmare, he’s stuck behind the war room’s door (which will never open for him, no matter how much he curses, cries, pleads, or wrecks his knuckles against the blastproof metal), watching the Vault Hunter repeatedly torture Daltos on top of ripping his heart from his chest.

Arsenal’s fantasised plenty about what he’d do if he ever ran into one of the Vault Hunters responsible for ruining their lives. For it to happen is a stroke of fortune so set against the usual Pandoran odds.

It’s lucky he popped a painkiller before heading here. He won’t let his left leg crash this meeting, not in a hundred years.

The Vault Hunter looks ready to bolt, all wide-eyed defenseless and shaking tension. Defying Arsenal’s expectations, they stay put, facing down about forty, armed to the teeth bandits, three of which are battle-hardened lieutenants and one Bandit Lord who is definitely not pleased to see them.

It’s a shame the Vault Hunter’s not in better condition; Arsenal frowns at all the fresh wounds. He dismisses the idea that the Vault Hunter’s willingly offering themself up. Then changes his mind.

If they are, well. He’s got all fucking day. He might not have dreamed of this precise moment, but he’s not going to waste precious time brainstorming various ways to exact his vendetta. 

It’s almost naive of the Vault Hunter to expect that they’ll be allowed to walk free. Their mouth moves, expression turning hopeful, and that spurs him into action.

Arsenal peels back the cover hiding his lit rage, exposing the true extent of his loathing.

_ This _ is for Daltos,  _ this _ is for  _ his _ pain,  _ Arsenal’s _ pain, the gang’s pain, every bandit who’s ever lost a friend, relative or lover in the Vault Hunters’ rampage on the frigate, the sleepless, humid nights wondering if Daltos is still alive or if he’s dead and if there’s any point in continuing, the damage running far too deep that this Vault Hunter’s death might never appease it. 

Arsenal transfers all his suffering via the skin stretched over his naked knuckles, one concentrated blow at a time, his focused resentment colored a lurid red for all to see.

Minty once described his rage as ‘spectacular to behold’. She ain’t fucking wrong. 

His skin breaking apart to sting on the Vault Hunter’s t-shirt drags. It catches on fibres and blood to provide the kind of nerve tingling sting that a light bite in the right place might otherwise evoke.

Daltos’ cigarette tastes exactly like Arsenal remembers it. It’s ingrained in his memory to the point that the smell is all it takes to evoke a sharp, painful nostalgia that has him looking around, expecting to see him (and when it gets too much, he sneaks off to the frigate’s engine rooms, indulging in someone else’s filthy but familiar habit for the sake of having something left of them to ground him, reminding him of what he’s supposed to be doing).

The Vault Hunter’s not fighting back. The beating ends, sooner than he’d have liked. Arsenal steps back, disposing of the smoke. The Vault Hunter could use a final push towards their desired result. Death’s too good of a gift, and it’s not his place to deliver that kind of judgement.

“Why aren’t you fighting back?” His voice is quieter than usual, a hideous contrast to his laughter, pitched dark and low, to match his current mood.

The Vault Hunter’s eyes glaze as they struggle to find words. Arsenal doesn’t blame them for needing a few seconds. Their brain’s taken a few hard, well-deserved knocks, so they’re not going to be doing anything needing delicate hand-eye coordination that urgently.

A blood bubble popping at the corner of their mouth announces that they’ve succeeded in putting together their thoughts. “Because of what I did to your friend.” 

The confession arrives too late because the damage is already done.

The Vault Hunter’s too addled to respond to being hauled closer to his face by the front of their filthy shirt. Arsenal sincerely debates whether it’s worth wasting a bullet on such a pitiful specimen of a Vault Hunter. Mud, blood and water trickle down their legs.

  
“Vamoose,” He snarls, no longer wanting to sully his hands any further. The Vault Hunter’s treated to a rough shove. It’s far more than that they’ll ever deserve.

It’s comical how the Vault Hunter almost trips backwards. They don’t get how close they came to a potential death. Arsenal pins that one on their brain still being rattled. “Why’re you letting me go?” They slur.

  
“Killing you won’t bring him back,” Arsenal snaps. The painkiller is doing its job, letting him limp off without a hitch. “Get the fuck out of my sight.” This doesn't mean he’ll let the Vault Hunter live if he sees them again. 

The Vault Hunter nearly ruins his merciful action (and everything) by opening their big, fat mouth when Arsenal joins the bandits at the Buzzards.

  
“Daltos is at–” Before they can finish their sentence, Arsenal draws.

It’s second nature, yanking the fully loaded pistol from his inventory, his target already set by virtue of staying in the same spot from before. The single bullet cleaves a rock’s edge, missing a boot.

His expression sends them scuttling towards cover. He twirls the pistol, sending it spinning back into storage, climbing onto the Buzzard. 

The stunned retinue of bandits scramble to take off, hindbrains catching up in that there's nothing else to be gained by sticking around, and testing his patience by delaying the short trip home.

\--

#####  **a kraggon’s purpose**

The return to the frigate is met with preparations to make sure that anything that’s not waterproof isn’t left to the mercy of rain. Arsenal limps upstairs to the war room. 

Every trip to the bridge is draining, sapping at his dwindling reserves of strength. Even if he exercises in the gym to stay on top of his muscle tone and weight to counter his inactivity, it doesn’t help much. There used to be a time where he didn’t want to bother traveling so damned far. These days, it’s a requirement.

He pops painkillers like he’s drinking water, one with almost every meal. Klemm warns him about developing an addiction. Arsenal doesn’t like ignoring said warnings, but there’s literally nothing else he can do if he wants to function. Well, there’s cutting off his leg, but Klemm’s likely to shit themself if he proposed that now.

Arado follows him into the war room. He senses that they’re not happy with letting the Vault Hunter go, their frustration making them pricklier than usual. The helmet’s whipped off once they’re behind him. The other lieutenants stick to the insides of the room’s walls, sensing a confrontation.

“Why’d you let that prick go?” Arado demands, their voice carrying to the furthest corners of the room.

“It ain’t important,” Arsenal states, playing it off like it's nothing. It’s not, to the other lieutenants. And it looks bad, he knows, but one Vault Hunter being allowed to run free is the last of all their worries.

Arado clearly doesn’t see it that way. They snap, “That Vault Hunter knew where Daltos was. We could have brought them back to wring that info out of them!”

“And even if we did know where Daltos went, we can’t bring him back!”

An ugly expression flits over Arado’s scarred face. “So, you’re saying he’s dead.”

“That ain’t what I’m saying.”

“I get it. You’re finally bumping off Daltos.” A sneer. “Typical. The second he ain’t coming back, you’re finally in charge.”

“I  _ ain’t _ bumping him off.”

“It sounds like you know where he is and what he’s up to, if he ain’t dead.”

“He’s not dead, he’s just–”

“Then why don’t you spill where he’s at? Let us pay him a visit to remind him where his gang’s at? No? How about Ravs? Ravs seems pretty well connected.” Each of Arado’s points are points that Arsenal’s more or less been over, in the past. He promised Daltos that he wouldn’t tell, though.

“Ravs doesn’t know shit. I’ve asked.” Arsenal lets his own voice fall flat. He’s had this argument with Arado in the past, generally late at night. It’s almost routine at this point.

“Where’s Daltos?” Arado pushes. “He’s been keeping info from us, just like Sjin said,” They accuse. “Look at him covering for Ravs too.”

This is not like Arado to make such an obvious grasp for power. The other lieutenants are murmuring amongst themselves. If any of them have ever voiced the same doubts, Arado’s vocalising them. Not good.

“Ravs doesn’t have anything to do with this!” Arsenal adds, “And I’m not in cahoots with him either.”

“Bit quick to defend him, aren’t you?” There’s a knowing expression on Arado’s face. Arsenal isn’t ashamed about his past behaviour regarding Ravs, or other people.

“And you’re a bit quick with those accusations,” Arsenal points out. 

Arado pauses, holding up a hand to pause the argument. They frown, appearing to consult their HUD. They lower their hand. “Sjin’s passing on a message from Daltos telling us to attack Sanctuary Hole.” Arado smirks. “Looks like he and Ravs aren’t ‘pals’ anymore.”

That’s not normal. In all their mutual history, Daltos and Ravs have  _ never _ escalated their fighting to taking potshots at each other’s territories. Other bandits wouldn’t hesitate to do that. Daltos and Ravs consistently refused, breaking tradition.

For this to change means that Arado’s being fooled by Sjin, or Daltos is indeed, finally done with Ravs. The first makes sense. The second, doesn’t.

“Would you just use your fucking brain for a sec? Daltos wouldn’t want you to attack Sanctuary Hole! That’s not like him!” Arsenal snaps back. “What did Ravs ever do to us, or you?”

“I dunno, what about lying about knowing Vault Hunters kidnapping Daltos?” Arado’s thrown down a card that Arsenal had never expected them to play. “You ever think to ask him why he did that?”

“He had his reasons,” Arsenal says, mind working to figure out a counter argument. “Maybe he had his hands tied by Vault Hunters. They’re pretty tough folks, after all. Maybe he really didn’t know those Vault Hunters.”

“Those ain’t good enough reasons.” Arado shakes their head. “We can’t trust him with anything, and you know how we deal with traitors.”

“He hasn’t been a part of this gang for years.” Arsenal’s gaze and voice hardens. “Did Sjin tell you that too? Don’t buy his excuses, he just wants to cause trouble.” 

It pains him to think that Arado spent the time being talked around by Sjin into turning on their own gang. Talking sense into Arado isn’t going to get anywhere, at this rate.

Arsenal has no reference for what Daltos would do in this situation. Well, he does, but it involves annihilating Arado, and Arado’s far too important. If he kills or hits Arado on the spot, the other lieutenants automatically know what side to take, and it won’t be his. Arado’s outmaneuvered him.

“Sjin said you’d try to say that too. Ravs is still a traitor, just one we’ve left running around for too long. Daltos also ain’t been in charge for months,” Arado says, in a low voice. “I think it’s time we go fixing that.”

“Like hell you will,” Arsenal growls. His quick draw forces everyone (including Arado) to dive for cover. Diversion complete, he makes his exit. He seals the war room’s door, using an old override code.

Daltos won’t like how he shouts that the left half of the room’s all traitors, replaying Arado’s accusations through his ECHO device. The right half of the room reacts exactly as he suspects: they open fire on the other half.

Having sown chaos, Arsenal limps down to his room to grab his things; he’ll have to make it to the cargo bay if he plans on leaving the frigate. Or, he could seal himself in the engine rooms, waiting until it’s all clear.

Either way, he’s not leaving Boner or his unit to be caught in the middle.

He sends a message to his unit, telling them to haul ass and clear off since over half of them are Minty’s old lot. He won’t have them dying to protect him. They obey without kicking up a fuss, knowing him far too well than to question his urgent orders. 

His next move is to pit Arado and Bachem’s units against one another. He embeds the accusations of backstabbing as part of the evidence within said order. It’ll cover his own unit’s disappearance.

He points out to Greif that their gambling debt to Bachem’s been paid off long ago. Bachem’s been fudging the numbers, if the numbers in that fake accountant's books are anything to go by. It’s almost worth the money that the accountant (who’d been posing as part of the Vault Hunters sneaking into the frigate on that fateful day) stole.

If any other lieutenants know what’s up (because any bandit with a shred of self-preservation instinct learns to quickly trust said instinct) , they’ll play it smart and stay out of it. If any get pulled in, that’s their decision. 

Arsenal continues to tap into rivalries and alliances, mentally thanking Daltos for sending over a short list of all the lieutenants’ sore spots and pissing contests.

By the time Arsenal reaches to the lower levels, the schism is in full swing. The frigate will survive. It’s built to withstand a hundred years worth of wear and tear. There’s no reason why it wouldn’t live through a bandit war waging in and outside of it.

He enters his room. Boner greets him with a mournful whine. Boner’s not bothered by gunfire. It must be the pained grimace on Arsenal’s face that’s doing it. Arsenal pats them.

“Come on, we’re going.” Arsenal slips several important items onto his person; he’s got a few hiding spots that aren’t his jacket’s pockets, reserved specifically for this sort of situation.

Boner’s head snaps to the door. Their hackles appear to rise as they stalk a circle to face Arado and Klemm stepping in. Arado’s panting, reloading an assault rifle. Behind them, Arsenal can hear the schism tearing apart the gang.

Growling, Boner plants themself between Arado and Arsenal. Arsenal’s eyes flick to Klemm; Klemm has the guiltiest look on their face. Arado nods, the hard glint in their eye forcing Klemm to obey.

Klemm brings the shotgun up, firing an explosive, scatter shot that bursts against Boner’s cracked hide. To Arsenal’s horror, the cracks widen, spilling yellow light. Boner barks that odd, rumbling bark of theirs, bounding towards Arado, ignoring Klemm, jaw unhinging.

Arsenal limp-runs while Boner distracts the two traitorous lieutenants.

A piercing howl of pain echoes down the hallways. Arsenal spots Boner skidding out into the hallway, blood dripping from their mouth. Whining one last time, Boner explodes into two shattered halves, rocks scattering all over his room’s floor. Ignoring the newly gouged hole in his chest, Arsenal slips towards the engine rooms.

The gang’s done for. Daltos would understand, right?

Arsenal pauses at the door to the engine rooms. He and Daltos spent many an evening in said rooms, revising plans with Zylus, the memory vanishing before Arsenal can hang onto it. He hasn’t been inside since the frigate crashed on Pandora.

If he can’t protect the gang, he can protect the frigate. That’s already partially achieved. If Arsenal goes inside the engine rooms, there’s no telling what Arado will do, with whatever information Sjin’s provided him. Arado will tear apart the frigate to find Arsenal. Arsenal  _ can’t _ risk that. Even Daltos’ ambition can’t repair a whole Dahl frigate if it’s been utterly stripped down during one vengeful bandit’s power hungry quest.

Arsenal forces his hand down from where it’s hovering by the door. He turns, mind flicking through possible actions. A vent’s cranked partially open above him. Arsenal nearly laughs when he spots a hidden box of cigarettes stashed in it.

Once, he and a bunch of other lieutenants had the brilliant idea of hiding all of Daltos’ smokes during his no smoking period. Clearly, Daltos had found other ways of satisfying his craving once it returned. Nobody had figured out how he got smokes despite Arsenal doing everything to get him to quit.

Boner’s noble sacrifice doesn’t stop Arado or the other lieutenants for long. They find Arsenal standing his ground, smoking a cigarette before his last stand. It takes nearly all of Arado’s best to bring down Arsenal, all of them dying in the attempt. He’s tackled when reloading, the gun knocked from his hand.

Arado’s nursing a massive bite mark on their leg. The sight fills Arsenal with a silly amount of pride; Boner had snuck in a final bite of their own. Good boy, he sadly thinks.

Arado snarls at Arsenal, “Do you have any fucking  _ idea _ what you’ve done?”

Arsenal glares at them. “Yeah, and it took you long enough.” He doesn’t think he deserves a punch to the face. With Arsenal bleeding from his nose, Arado hauls him off.

\--

#####  **arsenal vs the world**

Fieseler has a room set aside for interrogation. Arsenal’s been inside it a handful of times to see what the verdict is, once they’re done wringing information out of any backstabbers. It’s not often bandits take prisoners; most preferred to finish on the job than bother with the whole business of housing and feeding an extra, useless mouth.

He’s strapped down to the ‘chair’, one of Fieseler’s little (mumbled) jokes. The chair’s a polished sheet of metal, with a horizontal bit welded to one end for someone to stand on. Leather cuffs nicked from elsewhere (‘a dentist’) pinch Arsenal’s upper arms, binding him to his fate.

“Where’s Daltos?” Arado demands, circling around Arsenal. Arsenal keeps the bastard in his peripheral vision.

Fieseler’s hat doesn't let Arsenal see their face to know if Fieseler’s burying a mountain of guilt for turning on him. He understands, a little; Klemm’s a hostage, and so is Fieseler, and Arado’s perfectly willing to execute one or the both of them to force cooperation.

“What makes you think I’d fucking tell you?” Arsenal says, making sure that Arado doesn’t mistake the frosty politeness in his voice for anything else, such as cheekiness.

Arado punches him again. With the metal keeping him upright, Arsenal’s head slams into it. The thunk satisfies Arado, judging by the other’s expression. Arsenal makes no sound of pain, breathing through his nose as much as he can.

When one lives with a chronic pain condition  _ and _ a uterus that won’t quit trying to murder him on a monthly basis, his quota for pain exceeds that of any regular bandit’s. It’s a handy advantage to have.

“I got a place for you in the new hierarchy,” Arado offers, backing off. Fieseler fiddles with the lights, causing them to flare above him. Arsenal squints at the two of them.

“No thanks, I wouldn’t want you as my bitch,” Arsenal easily retorts. The third punch is well-deserved. Arsenal doesn’t manage to choke back a mocking laugh. “Daltos would have the bandit licking his boots at this point.”

The comparison to Daltos makes something in Arado’s eyes flash. They grab one of Fieseler’s tools off a tray, advancing on Arsenal. Arsenal stares down the stripping down tesla grenade in one hand. He’s not going to beg for mercy. He’d rather cut off his own tongue. Fortunately, Arado’s not as creative as Daltos in that regard.

This is merely a game of intimidation, to see who’ll last the longest. Arsenal hopes he’s winning. The burst of electricity hurts. It’s nothing like his leg on his worst days. That said, fresh pain’s hard to ignore.

Arsenal clenches up against the metal as Arado withdraws the sparking end of the grenade after jabbing it into his arm. He still won’t scream, his lower jaw and teeth throbbing from being stubborn about it.

“Is that all you got?” Arsenal pants. “That’s just  _ pathetic _ , now you’re just copying me laying it on that Vault Hunter.”

Three sharp, five second shocks follow that scathing remark. Arsenal can hear Fieseler warning Arado about pushing it. Arado heeds the warning; there, a bit of the old, cautious Arado still exists, past the power-hungry, Sjin brainwashed one.

“Arado, it ain’t too late,” Arsenal quietly says. “You know what Sjin’s really using you for.”

“Don’t talk like you don’t know it either,” Arado snaps. “Daltos hoodwinked us the entire time. He was just buying time to finish up that pet project of his.”

“What pet project?” Arsenal lies. This is a last ditch effort to find out how much Arado knows.

“He snuck down to the frigate’s engine rooms.” Arado laughs, in disbelief. “It’s all gone to his head, trying to fix this place up. It ain’t capable of spacefaring. It’ll fall apart before it can even reach the clouds. How’s he even going to get it off the ground?”

Oh, Arado. Arado’s formerly Atlas, so of course they’d have have a low opinion of Dahl’s creations. In his spare time, Arsenal’s been running projections of the frigate’s current condition. He hadn’t believed it, not at first. The proof continues to exist all around him.

Is Arado choosing to play stupid, or don’t they realise that the biggest prize is literally right under their nose? All it needs is one last component, one that Arado or Sjin doesn’t know about, the one Daltos has been trying to get back from Zylus. Good thing Sjin doesn’t know about it, or Arado wouldn’t be bothering with this entire business of interrogation.

“Can’t blame him for trying,” Arsenal responds, sweat running down his face. Trying to sound confident is almost impossible. He settles for ‘mostly unfazed’, plus ‘nonchalantly bored’, knowing that it’ll be immensely annoying. “Least it kept him out of trouble.”

“It didn’t stop him from ditching us.” Arado examines the grenade in their hand, subtly reminding him that it’s still active. It won’t work on him.

“He didn’t ditch us.”

“You were the only one in contact with him while he was gone. What’s so important about your chats that you ain’t gonna share it with the rest of us?”

“Maybe he didn’t feel like telling you because you’re a backstabbing piece of skag  _ shit _ .” Arsenal knows when Arado’s trying to be friendly, turning the tables. He’ll just upend the table in response.

Arado doesn’t fall for the bait this time. “Why’s he hiding from us?”

“I don’t know. Why do  _ you _ need to know?”

“See, I figure that if he’s going to all this effort, whatever it is he’s after, it’s gotta be worth it. We just gotta find him and take it from his cold, dead hands.” That sounds like one of Sjin’s doings, weaving lies around Arado until Arado completely believes it.

“Could be. If you’re trying to fish for info, I know about as much as you.” At least the time not being shocked lets Arsenal catch his breath.

“Then what’d you talk about?”

“Guns, the weather, Minty’s Boner, men, women, people, sex, and what a fuckboy you are,” Arsenal drawls. “Stuff you wouldn’t get, since you don’t got any friends.”

Fieseler snorts, a strange sound in the room. Arado shoves them hard, into the wall. Fieseler reels, moving back to supervise the entire event. Arsenal can feel a glare upon Arado. Arado ignores it.

“Know what, once we finish the east and west coast takeover, we’ll flush him out. He can’t run or hide forever. Pandora’s big, but–why the fuck are you laughing?”

“That’s what Arado said,” Arsenal whispers, with a hysterical laugh. Fieseler twitches underneath the coat. Arado directs a punch to his chest. Arsenal wheezes, still laughing in spite of his ribs crunching against his internal organs. “Know what, this is just sad, I’ll throw you a bone. You gotta tell Fieseler to piss off, though.”

Arado gestures for Fieseler do as much. Fieseler gives Arsenal a long, hard look before backing off into a corner, out of hearing range.

Leaning in, Arado puts an anticipatory ear to Arsenal’s mouth. Arsenal leans forward to sink his teeth into Arado’s ear. Ears bled a ridiculous amount, for things made mostly of cartilage and skin. Blood washes into his mouth, dripping all over his chin and face. 

Hollering, Arado thrashes and like a stuck rakk trapped on an overloaded power line. Fieseler’s shoving a gloved hand against Arsenal’s face, finding his teeth to attempt prying him off. The bastard’s not getting away that easily; he refuses to let Fieseler intervene by turning his head, wrenching Arado with him.

Ten seconds in, Arado punches Arsenal in the left leg, smashing the knee. That’s the worst possible move; at the flash of pain tearing up his leg, Arsenal merely bites down harder. Flesh gives as Fieseler resorts to getting Arado away. 

Arado stumbles back, one of their hands clamped to the bloody side of their head. There’s no way that they’re going to let this go.

Raising an eyebrow, Arsenal spits out Arado’s ear. It hits the floor, the ragged, sunburned edge making its own mess. Arsenal makes a face. “Anyone ever told you that you taste fucking horrible?”

“You’re as  _ bad _ as he is,” Arado breathes. It pleases Arsenal that they’re shaken by the loss of their ear. “No, you’re  _ worse _ .”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Arsenal says, letting Arado see and hear how smug he is. “You’ve been a real dick since you took up with Sjin. You’re a backstabbing, skagfucking fuckwit who ain’t got _shit_ on Daltos." He can’t stop how his left leg spasms of its own accord. Arado’s eyes flick to it, then back up to Arsenal’s.

“You seem to be having a little trouble with your leg there.” Arado’s hand squeezes Arsenal’s twitching left leg. With a menacing leer, Arado softly says, “Let us do _you_ a favor and fix that, right now.”

“Do your fucking worst, dickface,” Arsenal hisses.

Arado turns to Fieseler. “Bring the bonesaw. We’re doing this before we leave for Sanctuary Hole.”

“Don’t bother, I’ll cut it off myself if you leave it with me,” Arsenal sarcastically says. 

Arado hefts the bonesaw into one hand, testing its weight. They grin. “You shoulda cooperated.” The bonesaw’s lowered.

He hates how he starts screaming when the bonesaw’s teeth tears through his flesh.

\--

“Don’t worry, we’ll bring Daltos’ head back for you, or we’ll kill him while you watch, Arado ain’t decided on the specifics yet.” Bachem laughs as his shove sends Arsenal flying into the brig’s wall, the lack of balance spinning him to the floor. 

The door slams shut. Arsenal remains on the grimy floor. Fieseler’s secret act of mercy had been to tie off the bleeding, uneven stump of a leg. Or what’s left of it. If they’re trying to apologise for providing the room and tools that’d tried to break him, Arsenal thinks Fieseler can go and can shove it elsewhere, like up Klemm’s ass.

The others took his digistruct modules, not realising that his modules are just filled with useless junk (plus one cursive, handwritten ‘FUCK Y’ALL, ASSUMING Y’ALL KNOW HOW TO FUCKING READ’ note, sealed and addressed to one ‘Desperado and company’). He can live with the lack of a shield.

Arado will want to keep him alive until they find Daltos, if only to rub Daltos’ face in his entire gang backstabbing him.

Arsenal’s underestimated how much his leg hurts. Eventually, he summons the will to move, crawling across the floor until he finds the bit of wall serving as a bunk. It’s dusty, creaks like two people are getting busy on it when he settles onto it, but it’s better than the floor.

They’d left him his other boot. Once he’s made sure that he’s been left alone to die, Arsenal leans down, tugging off said boot. 

A quick inspection of the heel yields in finding the secret catch. He pops off the top, upending his compartment. A tiny, circular digistruct module falls into the palm of his hand.

He lays the boot and the lid to the secret compartment onto the bunk next to him. This was Minty’s parting gift, how she’d drawn a gun on the scythids years ago. She’d slipped it into his pocket before she left for Elpis, his precious, sly Minty, who had a feeling he’d need it. 

The inventory’s trimmer than what he prefers, but he’s been able to fit in a bunch of precious items. Arsenal extracts his ECHO device, several Anshin syringes, an old, stained but clean bandana patterned with birds, a multifunctional knife, a couple of rations, a full water canteen, the Sham, a spare gun and ammo cartridges.

The Anshin syringes he got from one of Sjin’s generous donations of supplies. Arsenal uncaps it, injecting it into his thigh. It’s not the same as a blood transfusion, antibiotics or a proper doctor’s attention, but it’ll keep him alive as whatever’s in it tries to stave off infection and anything else determined to ruin his day. 

Technically, his day’s already ruined. Death is probably the last nail in the coffin.

He didn’t think to pack any bandages, what with being in a rush to do everything else pending ditching Arado and the gang. Arsenal shrugs off his jacket. It cuts astoundingly easy when he finds the blade attachment of his knife, picking apart a sleeve. 

The brig’s cold, so he’ll need the rest of his jacket. He fashions the sleeve into a better tourniquet, tying it on above his leg. Arsenal realises that he doesn’t have enough material left to make the knot as tight as he’d like. He stares at the bandana.

He doesn’t want to use it, but she’d used it for the same purpose, in the past. Swallowing back the memories of the person associated with the bandana, Arsenal reaches for it. It joins the tourniquet.

Death is on its way, but it ain’t here for him yet. He can still do something with his remaining time. Arsenal switches on his ECHO device, tapping out a message. Once that’s done, he puts away everything, settling down to wait, conserving his energy.

\--

Daltos (or anyone), if you get this, the Blitzkrieg Blighters are bound for Sanctuary Hole, can’t give ETA, but frigate’s still standing as of time of communication.

_ Run _ . Take Zylus with you, and  _ do not _ let Arado get the A.I. core. Tell Minty, Hollie and Ravs I love them. Kill Arado and the other backstabbing cunts. If you ever meet Lomadia again, please tell her I’m sorry I never returned her bandana.

Don’t worry about me.

Arsenal, out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (so did any of you catch that fic title drop that’s one of the chapter titles?)
> 
> this fic is about 65,000 words. thank you to polishingopals, doublearrows, siins, teagstime for providing the context of several of these logs for this fic. 
> 
> in case you didn’t pick it up, every single one of arsenal’s entries are titled after famous references, usually movies. there are forty-two total references for the forty-two scenes. have fun figuring out the originals!
> 
> now it’s time to answer the most important question: did a fourway exist between ravs, arsenal, daltos and minty? yes, yes it did. it was beautiful. it’s one of my favourite dynamics in this entire au.
> 
> no, i’m kidding, the most important question is: is boner alive? yes. boner is alive! for anybody who plays the borderland games, you all know what happens if you hit a kraggon hard enough to split it. this is exactly what happened when klemm and arado opened fire on the little guy. arsenal now has two boners loose in his room. i wouldn’t be so cruel as to kill off the dog!
> 
> minty shows up as one of the major players in this fic. i love writing minty because she’s an incredible, shameless blend of a ‘i give no fucks about what you think of me’ and ‘i do whatever the hell i want’. she also generally doesn’t hesitate to say what’s on her mind, as per some of her one-liners. 
> 
> her development is subtle; she goes from being a someone who dives right into the fray to someone who has to carefully consider the eventual consequences of her actions. the tipping point was the battle where arsenal lost his leg. 
> 
> she had to put arsenal’s safety over her comfort, which is unusual because minty can be incredibly selfish when she wants to be. that said, she does care for people, which ties into her eventual role as the sheriff of elpis. she’s also pretty complicated on that front. i’m looking forward to having her show up in other fics!
> 
> was arado always going to be backstab arsenal and daltos? yes and no. if sjin hadn’t been talking them into it, they wouldn’t have betrayed daltos and arsenal. as you’ve all no doubt seen, sjin has a special knack for getting people to turn on each other. 
> 
> the thing is, arado 100% believes that they’re following daltos’ orders, like what arsenal is doing. if they’re been in on daltos’ projects, they wouldn’t have been turned so easily by sjin. on the other hand, most bandit lieutenants are supposed to challenge their lord for the seat of power. shrugs, arado’s a complicated guy, even if they’e in the background a lot of the time.
> 
> both arado and arsenal are motivated by their desire to keep what daltos built going, though arsenal’s main motives change once he talks to daltos post-kidnapping. because of arsenal’s loyalty, he kept the others in the dark, which contributed majorly to the success of the backstab. loyalty doesn’t always pay off in the good way. basically, arsenal sacrifices himself to save the frigate to keep daltos’ plan on track. he 100% believes that daltos will come back for him.
> 
> as one last note, the word 'cunt' pops up several times in this story; it's a heavier swear word that doesn't get used often but when it does, it has a greater impact, which is largely the intention behind arsenal using it. personally, i don't like using it. there's also a couple of places where he refers to his 'lack of a dick', which stems from being that comfortable with himself to joke about it. everyone's experiences differ; this is simply one character's way of expressing themselves, and isn't meant to be a general reflection. hopefully i've explained both matters clearly, but if there's any problems, please do drop me a line; i'm happy to hear any concerns and how i could do it better.
> 
> thanks for reading. all the doodles by the questionable siins is located over [here](https://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/tagged/beyond-the-borderlands%3A-confessions-of-a-bandit-lieutenant).


End file.
